


Nic Fit

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, Dom Molly, Dom/sub, Empathy, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Human Ashtray, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old habits die hard. Unless you have a sweet domina to take them firmly in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apres Moi

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously don't understand how this happened. I was just planning on making this playful PWP smut but then the story ran away and somehow became the start of some kind of Dom!Molly BDSM saga.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An experiment with a bratty Sherlock provokes a secret side of Molly. Can either of them handle it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a playlist that I listen to while writing this fic. The chapter titles will be the titles of songs that I feel capture the spirit of the chapter. This chapter is the song Apres Moi by Regina Spektor.

It was just like Sherlock to ask (ha! more like demand) Molly over to help with an experiment, then practically ignore her, when he wasn't snapping at her cruelly and rushing around in an anxiety-inducing pace.

"Aren't you finished with that skin sample yet? I could have had it done ages ago." He grumbled.

"Then you should have done it!" she replied, endeavoring to remain calm as she witnessed the swelling of Hurricane Sherlock. She was much too tired to snipe back, not that she was any better at it after a full night's rest.

"Move." He nudged her away from her work at his kitchen table with his hip none too gently, causing her to stumble sideways. She huffed and folded her arms across her chest but moved over nonetheless.

There were clattering sounds as he rushedly worked to prepare the sample. "There. Was that so difficult?" He held the sample under her nose haughtily.

"No. Especially when someone else has done 90% of the work for you." She pointed out.

"70%" he corrected "20% of the work you did was tedious maintenance and housekeeping I wouldn't have bothered with anyway."

Molly snorted at this. "Forgive me for being thorough. I thought this was a scientific experiment in which contamination of the controls would have rendered the data useless. But if you're content with sloppiness, I suppose that's your lookout."

Sherlock drew his lips down in a churlish frown before whirling back to the table to continue working.

Molly simply stood with he arms folded. Watching him. Willing her cold stare to bore into his brain. 

"If you insist on simply standing around, rather than help, make yourself useful and run an errand for me." He mumbled.

"No I don't think so, Sherlock. When I walk out that door I'm going straight home I haven't slept in nearly 20 hours. If you want my help you'll have to be nicer to me." 

Sherlock threw his head back and growled in frustration. Spun on the balls of his feet and rushed into the sitting room, searching manically through his flat. 

He upended furniture, tearing off the cushions of the sofa and chairs, tipping over vases and ripping out desk drawers. 

"Where are they?" He growled under his breath while searching inside one of his shoes. 

Molly slumped into John's old chair letting her face fall into her hands she weighed the pros and cons of falling asleep right here. Sherlock's noisy clashing and clattering through the flat made the decision for her. 

She slightly lifted her head and opened one eye to see him loosening a brick near his mantle and growling loudly when he found the gap he'd made there was empty. "Mrs. Hudson's been 'dusting' again!" He pushed his hands up his face and through his hair.

'Dusting' was Mrs. Hudson's code word for searching for contraband while under the guise of tidying up. To be fair, she always effectively managed to do both.

Molly had been rather slow in the uptake given that she was basically running on the fumes leftover from her latest caffeine binge. Now she finally understood. She wasn't dealing with normal git Sherlock. She was in the midst of a full-blown Sherlock fit. She groaned when it finally clicked. 

With whatever energy she had remaining she rose to her feet and made her way to the door to leave. 

"Where are you going? We're not finished!" He shouted, grabbing her by the elbow. 

She jerked out of his grasp. "Home, Sherlock. I need sleep. The experiment isn't anything we can't table for a few hours while I get some rest. Just put a pin in it, I'm too tired to indulge your little nic fit." she grumbled.

"My what!?" His brows furrowed as he seethed. 

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh God, Sherlock it's so obvious. You've fallen off the wagon and started smoking again. You're throwing a little fit because you want a cigarette."

Sherlock's lip curled in anger as he turned back toward the kitchen "What would you know?" He mumbled.

Molly perked up at this. "What would I know, Sherlock? Loads in fact! I had a packet a day habit all through Uni, up to my second year of residency. I quit when my father was diagnosed with cancer. I know a nic fit when I see one." 

"Stop calling it that! I'm not having a fit! I'm... just bored." He grumbled and slumped into the chair Molly vacated. 

"No point in denying it. The signs are so textbook they border on cliche." She sighed pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyelids drooping heavily with exhaustion. 

Sherlock bristled, he didn't like anything about himself being characterized as textbook, let alone cliche. "Oh do enlighten me, Dr. Hooper." He sneered.

"I don't think you want to take a saw to that branch." She sighed.

"A saw to what branch, exactly?" He responded becoming increasingly irritated and uncomfortable but unable to stop probing. 

"The one all your relationships are based on. The illusion that only you can observe and deduce others. Everyone does it, Sherlock. Most people just have the decency to keep their observations to themselves. You think you're safe from the deductions of others. You're not. We're all just too nice to say anything."

Sherlock smirked. He was certain whatever insipid nonsense she may have deduced of him throughout their acquiantanceship would be silly and baseless tripe. "Oh go ahead, Molly. Give me your best shot. Deduce away."

 _He asked for it_. She reminded herself before taking a deep breath and launching into her tirade.

"The behavioral science of the smoking habit is very simple Sherlock. You were clearly very high needs as a baby, unusually strong suckle demands. Mummy didn't want to have you attached to her constantly while she had other children to care for so an abrupt addition of the bottle and nummer caused nipple confusion, leading to a classic oral fixation. You have the vaulted pallet and slight overbite of a childhood of chronic thumb or finger sucking. Probably thumb, left thumb if your cuticles are anything to go by. It was a habit for which you experienced a lot of ridicule. Based on your minor gum recession you sublimated that urge into the much more socially accepted habit of smoking, sometime in early adolescence. Not to mention your near-compulsive habit of keeping your hands on your mouth or lips."

"I don't compulsively keep my hands near my mouth." He retorted. 

To which Molly's wordless response was to gesture toward his hands. He was in his typical thinking pose with his hands steepled up against his lips. He jerked his hands down, fumbling for a moment as if unsure what to do with them, before folding his arms awkwardly across his chest. 

He gave an unconvincing sniff of apathy. "Anything else?" 

"Yes. You're obsessed with breasts." She added. 

Sherlock barked a laugh. "You've rather missed your mark there, Dr. Hooper." 

"Don't worry about it, Sherlock. You're no more breast-obsessed than any other male in the Western world. But quite a bit more obsessed for a man who claims to eschew any sexual urges." She conceded.

Sherlock was stunned silent. Mouth agape he stared at her, baffled. Oh didn't she love it when that happened! 

 _What the hell, we're down the rabbit hole now_. "My breasts in particular." She added.

Sherlock gave a startled gasp and choked, coughing. "I'm not... I don't..." He stammered as words failed him. 

Molly rolled her eyes. "Yes they're not large but they're enough. You don't think I get that all the time, Sherlock? Do you know how many comments about my breasts being a 'mouthful' I've gotten in my life? Besides, you hover behind me while I work far too often. I'm surprised no one else has noticed." 

Sherlock composed himself and cleared his throat. "I just enjoy watching you work." He answered more than a bit defensively.

"Yes, especially when I'm using the bone saw. You really should wear goggles when you do that, Sherlock. Or are you worried they'll obstruct your view?" This time it was Molly's turn to smirk. 

Sherlock stared off into nothingness for a moment as he gathered his thoughts chewing his lip the way Molly often did when nervous. Oral fixation indeed. After a long moment he cleared his throat in preparation to speak again.

"Not that I'm lending creedance to any of your _deductions..._ How would you know if I was a high needs baby?"

Molly chuckled. "Because you're a high needs adult! I didn't do any more than the required amount of psychology studies. But I know enough to know that unmet infantile needs often carry over into adulthood."

Internally, she patted herself on the back for her diplomatic phrasing. Calling him a "high needs adult" was so much kinder than telling him he lacks the coping mechanisms of a well-adjusted infant. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Just pop psychology tripe, even if it happened to be true in his case. "And my gums and vaulted pallet?" 

"Dental records from when I falsified your death certificate." She confessed with a nonchalant shrug. She knew Sherlock never considered such things as cheating, since he too was often guilty of them. Due Diligence, as it were.

"Ah, of course." He said shaking his head. After a beat he continued, "While I've found this exercise in deductive reasoning entertaining, none of this information is helpful. I still want a cigarette. Knowing _why_ doesn't change anything."

Maybe it was the exhaustion making her loopy but she saw an opportunity and decided to take it.

She grinned wickedly. 

"Nonsense, Sherlock. This is science. Acquiring information is only the first half of the work, _applying_ it is the other." She stepped in front of him and settled into his lap.

He tensed but made no move to push her away.

"Smoking satisfies your oral fixation while flooding your brain with pleasure-inducing neurochemicals. That's why you do it. That's why you _crave_ it. But smoking is not the only means to that end." She spoke while steadily unbuttoning her jumper. 

She loosened the final button and slid it down her arms, allowing it to fall to the floor, beneath it she was wearing only a thin white camisole, her soft pink nipples peaking through the nearly sheer material.

She parted her legs so that they straddled his thighs, he never broke his gaze from her breasts as his large hands instinctively gripped her about the hips to steady her. 

She raised her arms to loosen her hair from the elastic band holding it in her signature ponytail putting her breasts directly at eye level.

She took her time, arching her back and murmuring contentedly, combing her fingers through her hair as it fell in curtains around her shoulders. 

His breath hitched, she was teasing him and he knew it but, mesmerized, he could do nothing but take it.

His fingers found their way beneath the hem of her camisole and glided upward toward her ribs, stroking lightly and desperately trying to resist the siren peaks above.

Deciding to take pity on poor Sherlock she crossed her arms in front of her and lifted the garment, peeling it from her body.

The camisole had a support shelf which is why she wore it in lieu of a bra. Sherlock groaned watching the final barrier give as each of her sweet little breasts fell through the bottom of the elastic as she tugged it away and onto the floor.

There they were, in all their uninhibited glory. Pert and creamy white like two mounds of meringue beckoning to be tasted. Sherlock's tongue darted out to moisten his lips that had suddenly gone dry at the sight of her. 

"Part one of the experiment is satisfying the oral fixation. Go ahead, Sherlock."

She barely got the words out before he released a ragged breath and dove face first between her breasts. He kissed and nipped along her breastbone as his large hands rose to cup each peak, kneading them so they pressed against his face, surrounding him, before choosing a side. 

He went to the right side first while his thumb brushed the sensitive nub of the left. He gave the right nipple a nuzzle with his nose before tracing his lip with it. He flicked his lower lip over the hardening bud then parting them to draw it into his mouth entirely. 

"Yes, there's a good boy." She whispered, rewarding him by tracing her fingertips up the back of his neck and lightly running her nails over his scalp. She grinned as she watched the goosebumps raise over his flesh. 

He gave a contented whimper as his tongue cupped around her nipple and he lapped at it again and again before releasing and giving the left the same attention. 

Molly arched into him whispering encouragements and continuing her spine-tingling attentions to his scalp.

"There you are, darling. Oh good boy. You're being very good for me." She purred and he groaned approvingly. 

One hand drifted from his hair to the waist of his pyjama bottoms. She felt him tense again slightly, giving him a silent reprieve she moved her hand upward, beneath his vest top. Raking her nails ever so lightly across his chest and stomach until he released a long breath through his nose. 

She continued in soft circles until she felt him ease into her touch. Then following the thin swath of dark hair beneath his navel, under his bottoms, she took him in hand. He popped off of her breast and threw his head back, thumping against the back of the chair.

His eyes were wild when he met her gaze questioningly. She gently released him taking her hand from inside his pants and cupped his face. She leaned forward, brushing the sides of his face with her delicate hands. 

"Part two of the experiment is the release of pleasure-inducing neurochemicals." She explained softly. 

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he stumbled over his words.

"I-uhm... I don't have any uhm... It's been a while so I don't have any protection here. Do you? Do you have-"

She cut him off with a gentle shush. 

She kissed him between his furrowed brows, and ran her hand over his forehead to smooth over the worried lines forming there. "You're getting ahead of yourself." She murmured. "Just concentrate on the experiment... Ahh there, that's better isn't it?" He nodded against her as he returned to her breasts to draw on them in long, satisfying pulls. 

He looked up from between her breasts to catch her lapping at her palm, slicking it with her tongue. His heart raced, thundering against his chest in anticipation of her next move. Her other hand pulled the band of his pyjama bottoms down.

"Raise up for me a bit? Ah lovely! We're being so well behaved for Miss Molly now, aren't we darling?" She shifted the band beneath his buttocks, freeing his cock and bollocks.

He whimpered helplessly every time she spoke to him like that. 

His suction was broken off into a desperate groan as she suddenly took him in hand at the base of his cock and her slick hand slid up his length much faster than anticipated. 

"Oh there's quite a lot of precum here already. Seems like the precaution of extra moisture was a bit overkill." She clucked her tongue, admonishingly.

From her vantage she could see his flush of humiliation rise on the back of his neck, but she also felt his cock throb in her hand as she spoke, encouraging her.

"Naughty, undisciplined boy." She gave him a firm swat to the fleshy top of his hip with her free hand. He hissed as another small spurt of precum dribbled over the space between her thumb and forefinger. 

"Oh no, that won't do. We'll have to work on our self-control, won't we my bratty boy?" Her voice was syrupy sweet despite her wicked undertones.

"Yes, Molly." He agreed. 

" _Miss_ Molly." She corrected. "You will afford your superiors their proper designation." She said with another firm swat to his hip. He jerked beneath her and bit his lip managing to stave off another wave of precum. 

"Yes, _Miss_ Molly." He rephrased. 

"Very good, darling. You're making excellent progress. Miss Molly is so proud of you." She could feel his wide grin slant over her nipple.

She rewarded him with a firm upward stroke to his member in a corkscrew motion, punctuated by thumbing over the head of his cock. 

Her actions shook him but he did not break contact with her nipple.

"Yes, well done. Keep that sweet mouth on my tit, there's a dear." Keeping her voice in that subtle range between powerfully authoritative and wonderfully sweet. He responded to it beautifully.

He quickly realized she would only pay attention to his member while his mouth was actively engaged at her breast. He moved his mouth at the speed and strength he needed. He drew harder on her nipple but slowly and she gave a corresponding stroke. 

He groaned but didn't stop working her breast unless he felt the urge to switch off. She rewarded him each time with her expert touch. 

After several long satisfying tugs he was absolutely gasping for quicker motions focusing on the head of his cock as he was nearing his finish. He signaled his desire by giving a more shallow latch to her breast and flicking against it with his tongue in sudden quick strokes.

She got the message, working up his length in fast strokes until she reached the head, circling it fully in her hand. Her motions were quick and frenetic twisting her hand around his head. 

He moaned against her pitifully. So close, wanting badly to cry out. But if he stopped, so would she. He felt suspended on the edge of release, not quite tumbling over. It was maddening. 

"Nearly there, precious?" She cooed.

He responded with a short nod and a pathetic whine, still obeying her unspoken edict and not unlatching from her breasts. Her heart melted. She decided she'd tortured him enough and pumped him vigorously with firm, earnest strokes.

She roughly pushed her free hand down her own trousers flicking her fingers against her clit, so worked up from their activities that she was already near the brink. 

"Open your mouth, darling. I want to hear your voice when you come." She ordered breathily, racing toward her own finish. 

He gratefully popped off of her breast, jaw tender but  instinctive suck need fully sated. Replacing his mouth with his hands. He held on to her mounds for dear life as she brought him off with that soft sinister little hand.

Those small, delicate hands were as adept at wringing pleasure from human flesh as they were at flaying it open. A thought he found terrifying and completely arousing.

He arched into her touch, his head craned against the back of the chair crying out in a hoarse crescendo that matched the build of his orgasm. 

"Oh. Oh! FUCK, MOLLY!" He shouted until his voice was ragged. His ejaculate was a torrential outpouring.

Years of pent-up, repressed sexual frustration flowed freely from his body and spilled over onto her hand as she milked him through it, loosening her grip as he softened. 

She watched his face while he came undone, whimpering and shivering through her own orgasm meekly, bowing her head in his shoulder she breathed herself down. 

He sat there, slightly bewildered, but fully relaxed unsure of what to do next. He anxiously drew an arm around her to stroke her back, but she lifted her head and stared at him with an alien expression. 

"You don't have to do that." A suggestion or an order? He was unsure based on her expression so he lowered his hand back to the arm of the chair. 

"Should... May I kiss you?" He asked. This was unfamiliar territory. Clearly Molly was much more complicated than he'd ever given her credit for. Her nose wrinkled as she processed his question. 

"Perhaps another time." She answered quietly, her voice laden with exhaustion. She rose to her feet and when he moved to do the same she halted him with her outstretched hand.

"Stay there. I'll be right back." She padded to the bathroom and he heard the sink. She was only gone a moment and she returned with a warm, wet flannel. She knelt before him and delicately cleaned him up. 

He watched in awe as she wiped away the evidence of their tryst and tucked him away with gentle, thorough motions he'd often seen her use in the morgue.

It was wondrous to behold as the recipient of such tenderness. How many living men could boast they'd received such care from Molly Hooper?

Not many, he suspected.

When she finished she turned to pick up her clothes that lay on the floor and let him watch as she dressed lazily. Then strolled back to the kitchen, clattered around for a bit and returned with a glass of water and a sleeve of biscuits, setting it down on the end table nearest the chair. It took him too long to realize they were meant for him.

He was confused by all of this. What did any of it mean? She said 'perhaps another time' when he asked to kiss her, does this mean this is something they do now?

Is this a new extension of their relationship? It gave him a lot to ponder until she broke his reverie by leaning forward, kissing his cheek and running her hand through his hair affectionately. 

"I have to go, Sherlock. I'm knackered." She murmured against his cheek. 

"You could stay." He suggested. "Sleep here... If you like."

She smiled warmly despite the weariness in her eyes. 

She gave him a final kiss on his hairline as she rose and walked toward the door. She gave him a final look, smiling weakly.

"Perhaps another time." She answered before leaving his flat. 

He slumped in the chair for a long moment. Just holding space while his sated body refused to cooperate with his mind.

He felt unburdened, and empty of the swirling mess of jumbled thoughts that fought for dominance in his mind. 

After a time, his brain began to come online once again, this time his thoughts were more streamlined and coherent.

Although the craving to smoke still ran around inside him he was easily able to push it down the hierarchy, aided by the new facet of his clever Molly Hooper that now occupied his mind palace.

She ordered it down like it was a petulant puppy, stroked it tenderly when it complied.

"Good boy." She said. "You're being so good for me."


	2. Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is determined to forget their encounter at Baker Street, but Sherlock can't let his questions go unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your own edification, listen to the song "Werewolf" by CocoRosie. I think it encapsulates the spirit of this chapter.

Molly caught a cab moments after stepping outside of Baker Street, murmured her address and dozed the entire way home, jolting awake when the cabbie loudly barked their arrival.

After paying the sheister a small fortune she drug herself up to her flat, not even reaching her bedroom. Instead, she threw herself face-down onto her sofa and drifted off, uncaring that she was still dressed and wearing her shoes.

Toby walking across her back, purring loudly in her ear woke her. She groaned, reaching for her phone to check the time. She'd only been asleep 3 hours but she had several missed calls and texts.

All from Sherlock.

_Manage to get a cab? You know you're rubbish at it._

_Make it home alright?_

_You should have just stayed at mine._

_Are you getting these?_

_CCTV outside your flat showed you getting home. Sleeping then._

The light from her phone screen was practically blinding. She groaned and rubbed her eyes as she read each one.

Leave it to Sherlock to layer insults into an inquiry regarding one's safety. 

_Found a cab and my own home well enough, thanks. But I'll let you know if I have any trouble doing up my shoelaces._

Was the message she started to type before the memory of what transpired immediately prior to her exodus crept back into her mind causing her to flush all the way to her hairline.

Had she really said all those things?

Oh God she had done things with- no, _to_ Sherlock! Made him call her by her Domme name. She took note of her tender nipples and her hands still smelled like him, like both of them.

She curled into herself. Deleting the message she had typed and tossing her phone to the other side of the sofa. 

She'd fucked up. There was no other way of putting it. This was a side of herself that she kept under tight control and it had somehow shaken loose... onto Sherlock, of all people.

Knowing him it would just be a one-off. If she ignored it, pretend it hadn't happened, he would too. He was probably just as keen to forget it as she was. She eased a bit at that thought.

Her text alert chimed again.

_Could really go for a cigarette..._

Her heart thundered against her ribs, terrified. The one time she was counting on him to be cold and rebuking, he wasn't.

She ignored the text. She had to remain committed to her denial if there was any hope of it working. Instead, she went to take a shower, maybe getting the smell of him off of her would help. 

It was worth a try. 

 

* * *

 

Days passed, nights in at her flat, lunches with Mary, endless paperwork and absolutely no sign of Sherlock.

She knew it was only a matter of time before he showed up in her morgue: begging for body parts, taking up space in her lab, roping her into experiments at Baker street or taking a kip at her flat and eating up everything in her pantry.

In other words, business as usual. Not another word of what transpired that day need ever be spoken. Just another funny footnote to be filed away and forgotten. 

She found comfort that, soon enough, that the status would be quo. It practically was already. She was so confident of this, in fact, that when he did finally appear at Bart's she smiled and greeted him easily in her usual cheerful expression.

"Hullo Sherlock."

He looked stricken when his stormy eyes met hers and swallowed. "Hello... Molly." There was a brief pause before he spoke her name, as if he was fighting something in his throat and it came out as a slightly hoarse whisper. 

That was odd. Molly couldn't keep her thoughts from playing across her face in an expression of clueless inquisition. "Are you feeling well? You look a bit peaked." The, already minimal color in his cheeks had drained when he entered.

"No. Well, yes. I'm fine. And you? I mean, how are you?" Molly felt a bit dizzy. What was happening? Had she woken up in some alternate universe in which she was the cool, confident, "high-functioning sociopath" and Sherlock was the shy, clumsy misanthrope? God what a thought! 

"Same." She responded as soon as she could gather herself. She glanced around toward the swinging doors. "No John today?"

"No." was his only response before falling completely silent just standing and staring. The silence stretched out well into the length of time that could be qualified as awkward. It seemed neither of them was particularly keen to start talking so Molly gave herself an out. 

"Well I was just about to get a coffee if you'd-"

"Yes, actually." He cut her off. "I thought perhaps we could go have some. The cafe up the street is excellent. That is, if you- you're available."

Molly wasn't certain, but she felt like her eyes must have taken on that ridiculously owlish expression it had a tendency to when shocked.

Was Sherlock asking _her_ to coffee? 

"It's alright if you're busy I just-"

"No ah..." She glanced down at her watch. She didn't have any autopsies in yet and all she had was a rather daunting stack of tedious paperwork that she was not exactly in a rush to get to "I have some time. I'll just get my jacket."

He gave a single nod and watched as she divested her lab coat, hanging it on the rack by the door and replacing it with her regular red one.

He held the door for her as the exited. 

The short walk to the cafe up the street felt a lot longer when taken in silence. He walked beside her with his hands clasped behind his back narrow eyes trained on the lines in the sidewalk ahead of them.

He held the door for her when they arrived at the cafe and directed her to a more secluded corner table of the cafe after they made their orders. 

Molly sat at the window sipping contentedly at her cup watching the passersby, taking in the cool grey of the autumn sky that had, mercifully, refused to rain.

She needed to say something to break this terrible silence. She was about to comment on the weather, something along the lines of "lovely day, isn't it?" When Sherlock dove in. 

"What _was_ that?"

Molly jerked with surprise at his abrupt question.

"What we did, at my flat..."

Molly had a sharp intake of breath. Oh what fresh hell is this?  Was he really going to make her have this conversation.

"Oh uhm... yes. I'm sorry about that, Sherlock. We don't have to talk about it. It's fine." Molly looked away, brows knit as she chewed her lip, suddenly flushed. 

His blue eyes studied her face carefully, seeming to be just as confused and frustrated that Molly was refusing to return to form, as she had been with him.

"I want to." was his simple reply. 

Molly took a deep breath, gathered her courage and met his gaze.

"You sucked on my tits while I jerked you off. That's it. It's done. I'm sorry if it makes things weird between us, I rather hoped it wouldn't. But it's fine, really." 

Sherlock squinted slightly, reeling from the bluntness of her words. "You know that's not it." He bit out, regarding her carefully, this was extremely new territory.

"The other things... the names. The things you said to me." He tried to hide the shiver that ran through him but it colored his voice ever so slightly.

"Then you were so distant after and you didn't... you didn't want me touch you. Kiss you. You left and you didn't answer any of my texts or calls. Are you angry with me? Have I done something to-"

Molly cut him off with a sigh and dropped her face into her hands. She took several calculated breaths before looking up at him again.

"I care about you, Sherlock. I care about you so much. You know that, and I think you care about me too, in you're own way..." She took measured breaths as she considered her next words. 

"We're friends. I would even like to think we're close friends. It's no secret that you've always held a certain... draw, for me. I admire you and greatly enjoy your company and, yes, even indulged in the fantasy that we could be..."

She took another deep breath. "I don't know...Something more. But we can't. I know that now. And it's fine. We can't. What happened that day... that can't happen again."

"Why not!?" He snapped before retreating back into his practiced demeanor and spoke with a level tone. "Why not _now_? Why was it something you seemed to want before, but you don't want now?" 

If she hadn't known any better she would have thought Sherlock was self-conscious. God, of course he was, how would she feel if it had been the other way around? 

"Because I like us! I like the way we are together, it makes me happy. And if what happened that day happens again, keeps happening, it will destroy us. You don't want this, Sherlock. You can't take it." She brought all the gentleness she could muster into her voice as she spoke. 

For his part Sherlock looked quite incensed, offended even. His face was pinched in quietly smoldering anger. "What is it you think I can't take, Molly? Hmmm? I know you about as well as anyone can know a person. I've handled your quirks just fine, thus far. What's changed?"

He's handled _her_ quirks? That's a laugh! Clearly he's just trying to get a rise out of her she was not going to let this disintegrate into another senseless arguement. She couldn't let this drive a wedge between them. Not after she's worked so hard to be this close. 

"Nothing's changed, Sherlock. There are things about me... things I do. It's too much, Sherlock. It's ruined enough relationships in my life and I don't want it to ruin this one."

She slid her hand across the table toward his, brushing his knuckles with her fingertips.

"No matter how badly I want to try..." She choked, biting back something inside and looking away.  

Sherlock laughed bitterly. "And for once it doesn't matter what _I_ want. Ironic." 

She had to agree. Their relationship thus far had hinged upon what he needed, what he'd wanted. All their distance up to this point had been strictly from him. This was just his damaged ego lashing out. He didn't actually want her, couldn't actually want her.

"You don't know what you want. You don't have the first idea..." 

"I want more." He blurted out as much to his own surprise as it was to Molly's. "More,  _Miss_ Molly." His voice lowered into that deep, hungry rumble and Molly's heart lept into her throat. "I want you to show me that. I want both Mollys. I want my soft-spoken pathologist and I want... _her_."

Molly gulped as she fought for air. "Why?" She rasped. 

"Because..." He began "You made me feel so... safe." His voice was just above a whisper. "I haven't felt that way in, I can't even remember when. Maybe never."

His gaze fell to the table, where their hands were joined.

"I can't pretend that I'm I'm any good but I promise I'll try." He dipped his chin down and looked through his lashes leaning closer from across the table, taking her hand in earnest. Pleading.

"I'll be a good boy for you, Miss Molly. I'll make you proud. Please let me try."

The way he looked at her in that moment, so open, so vulnerable, she couldn't help but melt. With her free hand she reached across and cupped his chin, tracing her thumb over his lips. 

He closed his eyes, quietly accepting the contact trembling slightly, teeming with want.

Something snapped inside her. She was a fool to think this would be anything but madness. 

"Oh precious..." She breathed and heard him release the tiniest whimper. Her heart lurched, they were through the looking glass now. There's no going back. No pretending things can be like the way they were.

She could no longer deny this urge she had to take him in her arms and crush him under the force of her tenderness. To bind him in her warmth until he cried out for release. She wanted to devour his pain and give him her solace again and again.

She knew now he wanted that too, and she would always give Sherlock want he wanted. Every time. Always.

Always.

"How can I say no to this face?"

 


	3. Ne Me Quitte Pas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is "Ne Me Quitte Pas" by Nina Simone. Yes I know there's a version of the song by Edith Piaf, I like Nina Simone's voice better. *dodges tomatoes* whatevs, listen to the Edith Piaf one instead if you want, jeez!

* * *

* * *

_"How can I say 'no' to this face?"_

* * *

* * *

 

 _Easily and often, it would appear._  Sherlock thought bitterly as he walked to the street to hail a cab after parting with Molly at Bart's.

After the coffee shop he walked her back to the hospital, per the social convention. They spoke of nothing consequential on the way back, small talk. 

They paused outside the morgue doors. He didn't have a reason to be at the morgue that day aside from asking Molly to coffee. After they made their goodbyes, Sherlock leaned in to give her a parting kiss. It seemed the done thing given that they were... something now. 

She captured his face in her hands, stopping him before he could reach her, and pressing a kiss to his cheek instead. 

"I'll text you a time." She smiled sweetly, dimpling in that adorable way that made Sherlock want to tear his hair out. Then turned away from him and retreated to the morgue.

In the cab Sherlock contemplated what the hell was going on. Molly looks at him like she could eat him alive one moment, but turns suddenly icy when he gets close. It was maddening.

 _Now you know how she felt all those years._ The woman drawled, stretching lazily on a fainting couch. 

"Go away." He muttered.

The woman clicked her tongue. _This is your mind palace. If I'm here it's because you invited me._

She pouted. _You can be so rude. No wonder she's decided to crack the whip, if you'll forgive the pun._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She's not like you."

_Oh no? You want her the same way you once wanted me. Seems like we're in the same sisterhood, she and I. What makes you think you'll be able to follow through this time?_

"She's not like you." he insisted. "She's trustworthy..."

_So it's just a coincidence that she wants to take down your trousers and spank your arse red?... Or is that what you want? This mind palace business does get so dreadfully convoluted._

"I'm not sure what she wants." He admitted with more than a little frustration. 

 _Clearly_. The woman arched a perfectly sculpted brow then rolled onto her stomach bending her knees so her stiletto heels were kicked up into the air, nearly touching her bottom when she pointed her toes.

 _Personally, I've always found sex with someone who would gladly dig a knife into my back at the first opportunity, profoundly thrilling._  

"No accounting for taste." Sherlock sneered. He watched the streets of London winding and unwinding outside the window of his mind palace's drawing room. 

 _Mmm, certainly._ The woman agreed. _Perhaps that's a feeling you and your sweet little Doctor share. Explains why she's so keen to keep you at a distance, my dear. _

He took in her words. "You think she doesn't trust me?"

 _No. You think she doesn't trust you. Or maybe I do too. Maybe that's why I'm here, to corroborate what you already know, because that is what the real one would do? Honestly, I'm not qualified to weigh in on that either way. But to clarify, I think she trusts you about as much as a mouse can trust a snake. She knows she's playing with fire. She may just be trying to take... _ The woman shrugged. _Precautions?_

"If you're right, then what do I do?" He shrank in resignation. 

 _Oh that all depends._ She smirked. 

"On what?"

_On you, of course. You can continue to keep her at a distance and carry on with your life as usual and get nothing. Eventually she'll meet someone else, maybe even someones. Oh couldn't you just see her with a pile of doting subs at her feet. They'd happily live on their knees for a taste of her... _

She stood and strode toward him, circling him like a vulture. _Or you can be a good lad and take your licks... Or lack thereof._ She winked. _Maybe you can eventually earn yourself a treat from the good doctor._

Sherlock scoffed. "That's your advice? Be a good little sub and please my Mistress? Any other treasures of profundity laying around?"

Her brows furrowed and her lips were pressed into a thin line. 

 _Just this._  Her voice hardened. _Don't forget that she is not your Mistress. She hasn't decided whether to keep you yet... She may just as well take you by the scruff of your neck and toss you out on your arse. You are such a handful. Pity, you would look stunning with a collar around that pretty throat._

Her elegant hands splayed over the alabaster column of his neck. Her blood red nails pressing lightly into his flesh. 

Sherlock shot her an icy glare. 

 _Oh don't look at me that way, dearest. The fact that we're even having this conversation means that you think so too. Anyway, shouldn't you be loving this? She's a domme, it's only natural that she's holding all the cards, isn't that what you really want? To be beaten...  _She rolled her eyes and affected air quotes. _"fair and square."_

Any scathing retort he may have had saved up died on his lips when he realized the cabbie had stopped the car outside Baker Street. He was waiting for Sherlock to get out, still running the meter while Sherlock argued with the Woman in his Mind Palace.

Sherlock grumbled as he exited the cab, tossing money into the cabbie's open window before stomping up his stoop and unlocking the door to the foyer.

He was already up the steps and in his sitting room when his text alert chimed. It was from Molly. A jolt of electricity shot through him as he haphazardly tossed his coat somewhere in the vicinity of his coat rack to read the text.

_Tomorrow? 7 pm? -MH_

_That would be satisfactory. -SH_

He paused in thought before sending a second text.

_Thank you, Miss. -SH_

He tried not to stare at his phone as he waited for her response but he did anyway. Obsessively eyeing the screen any time there was the slightest noise in his flat. To his credit, he managed to remain composed when her text finally came through.

_You will. All in good time, precious. -MH_

He grinned knowing it was true. 

 

* * *

 

It was 7:45 by the time Sherlock arrived at Molly's. He tapped on the door, and heard her shout "Come in" from the other side.

He entered tentatively and peeked around and then strode into the sitting room. Everything looked normal, nothing unusual or out of place except Molly was nowhere to be seen. 

"You're late." He heard her say from the kitchen. "Wait for me in the spare room. And take off your shoes."

He looked down from where he stood in the middle of the sitting room. 

Carpet, freshly steamed. Looking behind him he saw the trail of shoe print indentations he'd left. He silently kicked himself for he oversight before rushing back to the alcove in front of the door to remove his shoes, stuffing his socks inside. 

He saw her from the corner of his eye in the kitchen while he crossed the hallway toward her spare bedroom, leaning over the sink. He knew already that he was in trouble so he kept his eyes forward as he walked.

Her spare room was very different from the last time he'd been there. The dreadful futon that comprised her "guest bed" had been removed and replaced with antique furniture.

The old white cotton curtains had been replaced with heavy blackout curtains. A plush rug adorned the floor and above it, in the center of the room, was a large wooden arm chair, handsomely upholstered with round brass tacks and a deep purple velvet batik. At the foot was a matching ottoman. There was a small bar cabinet in the corner. 

The only things that were the same about the room were the full length mirror, positioned in front of the chair, and the several bookshelves that had served as the repository of Molly's rather impressive literary collection. Items that looked more at home in the room now that they were joined by the other furniture. 

He was certain all of this could not have been recent purchases. More likely, she had taken them out of storage the previous day, all freshly polished. In fact, eyeing the sturdy construction of the warm walnut mirror and bookshelves, it occurred to Sherlock that this furniture had likely been in the same collection as the others in the room, suggesting they were inherited. She'd hauled family heirlooms out of storage to outfit their little dungeon. He took a moment to revel in  the submersiveness of the thought.

She had been working very hard to build this little hideaway for the two of them and he was late in arriving... his pulse ramped up and breathing shallowed. He was already failing in his mission of showing her that he could be an obedient sub. 

"What do you think?" She asked, suddenly behind him, standing in the doorway. 

He looked over to her, leaning in the door, arms crossed over her chest, she was still wearing her dish gloves. He swallowed as he took in the sight of her. "It's excellent. Thank you, Miss Molly." he croaked.

Her eyes were hooded beneath her lashes and her lips were parted in a straight line. She was telegraphing no emotion except maybe a bit of ennui, or rather, she seemed entirely unimpressed with him. Regardless, the effect was unsettling. 

"Open the wardrobe." She ordered gesturing toward the fixture beside him that matched the rest of the furniture. He complied.

"Now strip and hang up your clothes neatly." 

He did as he was told, beginning with the buttons of his shirt. "You may place your watch on the end table there, quickly now!" She clapped her hands together loudly, making him jerk slightly.

He completed his task, shedding every garment and carefully hanging them on the curtains Molly had provided in the wardrobe. He squared his shoulders and cast his eyes upward to meet her gaze. The ennui he noticed earlier was replaced with a flash of interest. The slight raise of her brow and quirk of her lip put him more at ease. 

She stepped toward him, raising her forearms so he could see the rubbery pink dish gloves. "You'll have to excuse these. You were late and I wasn't sure if you were actually coming. I busied myself with other tasks." She began peeling off her right glove.

"I was called to give witness in court and- ah!" She snapped him in the nipple with her right rubber glove before moving to take off the left.

"I don't care about your excuses, Sherlock." She snapped him in his other nipple with the left glove. 

He winced and inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry, Miss."

Her lip curled menacingly. "Not yet, you're not." She threw her gloves down onto the floor and pressed her body against him.

Her sudden nearness crushed his resolve, and he reached his arms arms around her body to embrace her fully and brush his lips against hers.

Almost as if acting on instinct, her hand jerked up and snatched the curls at his nape. Yanking his head back, she tsked at him. "So bratty today." She tightened her grip on his hair until he hissed. She pulled him along to the arm chair.

"Sit." She ordered and he obeyed.

She settled in his lap and began fiddling with straps on the arms of the chair.

"You know, Sherlock..." she spoke as she pulled up a leather cuff that was secured to the arm chair.

"I don't think it's asking too much for a small measure of courtesy." She bound his right wrist to the arm chair before giving the same treatment to the left. "Do you?"

"No, Miss." He murmured. 

"No." She agreed, nipping his neck under his ear biting and sucking a dark mark there. He leaned his head away to give her more room. He sighed when she began licking and nibbling at his earlobe.

"It's the 21st century, Sherlock. A man as attached to his mobile as you certainly has no excuse to not notify others when he'll be late." She flicked his nipples, tugging them to full hardness before swirling her tongue around each of them.

He groaned and jerked against his bindings. 

She slid off of his lap and began binding his ankles in the same fashion. 

"And then you mangled my fresh carpet with your shoes." She gritted out, jerking his bindings on but still careful to make sure she's not cutting off his circulation.

"I'm sorry, Miss" he said again, a small plea in his voice.

She slapped his inner thigh with a loud crack, that made his cock twitch and he pulled on his binds again.

"Enough!" She huffed. "Don't just say you're sorry if you don't mean it." She cracked him again hard on the other thigh, frighteningly close to his member.

"I do mean it! I'm sorry, Miss."

"You're sorry now that you're cock is hard and leaking." She thumped it gently, making it bounce against his stomach.

"What would you give for me to touch you right now? Close your cock in my fist and milk you until you come?" He groaned and sunk into the chair.

"Or would you rather I take your cock down my throat and suck you hollow?" He dug his ankles into the rug, arching his hips to bring his aching member closer to to her. 

She gave him another crack on the thigh making him gasp. 

"None of that! Focus or I'll leave you like this, hard and bereft, and take my time pleasuring myself in the loo." She soothed her hands up and down his tender thighs, red welts blooming hot on his skin then took his bollocks in her hand, massaging them gently.

"Do you want to come, Sherlock?" She tugged at his bollocks making him cry out.

"Yes, please Miss!" 

"Hmm... " she sat on the ottoman, her back to him, and leaned backward. Resting her head in his lap, her long tresses just barely brushing the base of his dick. 

"We'll see. You were late so our time is cut short." She explained, reaching behind her and tugging at the ribbon on the back of her neck.

She sighed. "If you had texted or called to tell me you'd be late it may have been different. As it stands, our schedule will move on as planned... With a few key omissions." her voice darkened at the last sentence.

At first glance it appeared Molly had been wearing a rather simple, but sweet halter dress with a peter pan collar and a hemline that just brushed the tops of her thighs. But as she tugged at the ribbons behind her it became clear that it was actually an apron, and she was completely nude underneath. 

Her body was curved over his legs and he had a delicious view of her, but he was unable to touch.

"Look in the mirror, Sherlock." She ordered and his eyes snapped ahead to the reflection before him. 

"God!" He bit out at the sight of her draped over him.

She pulled her legs up onto the ottoman, bending at the knees and opening her legs to tease him with the sight of her slick folds.

He groaned and bucked his hips again, his cock arching toward his stomach.

She reached her arms up and curled one behind him, to massage his scalp with her fingers while the other hand traced his lips. 

She slid her index and middle fingers between his lips, wetting her fingertips on his tongue. He lathed his tongue over her fingers, sucking enthusiastically. He wanted her to see how ready he was to please her.

"Yes, that's nice." She breathed. "I think I should put that eager tongue to good use soon." 

With a wet smack she pulled her fingers from his mouth. Bringing the slick fingers down to circle her clit as she released a breathy mewl, arching against her own hand. 

"Do you want to watch me come, precious?" 

"Yes!" He breathed out heavily and squirmed against his bonds. 

At these words she spread her legs wider and flicked against her clit faster, whimpering and moaning "Oh precious, do you see? Can you understand what you do to me?" She purred as she touched herself. Putting on a show for his benefit. Occasionally she brought her hand down from his hair to pluck and twist at his nipples and lift her head so her hair brushed his length. 

She peeked at his reflection. The cords of his neck were tight and constricted. His face had a pathetic expression that made her heart swell.

"Do you want to touch?" She croaked out as she tightened the circles around her bud, bucking into her own hand. 

"God yes! More than anything." He begged. She freed one of his wrists. But stopped himself before moving to touch her. 

"Oh! Very good manners, darling. You shan't go pawing at a lady without an invitation." She dipped a single finger into her heat and let him feel her shiver over him.

"Please Miss, may I?" His hand was shaking as he fought the urge to touch without permission.

"Ahh! Yes you may. Since you asked so nicely." She added a second finger and sped up her movements. 

He released a breath of relief, gliding his hand between her breasts and southward, as far as his restrained body would allow. He could only reach as fair as the curls at the top of her mound.

"Oh you naughty thing. You want my cunt? Do you want to feel how wet it is for you?"

He pulled against his restraints again.

"Pity you had to be late, Sherlock." She pressed against her g-spot, her thrusts becoming quick and artless, lifting up on her heels to pump her hips against her fingers. 

He fell back against the chair groaning. 

"Eyes front!" She shouted. "You said you wanted to watch, now watch!" She sped up her movements moaning and biting her lip.

He settled the hand she'd freed on her breast alternating between each but never breaking his gaze from her reflection in the mirror. 

"Do you want to touch yourself?" She turned her face to nuzzle his cock.

"Yes. Yes please, Miss!" He was shaking. 

"You may. Slowly! Don't come until I say, do you understand?" 

"Yes Miss. Thank you, Miss." He breathed as he grasped himself by the base, tugging slowly at his member, whimpering.

He colored slightly with shame when he realized her keen eyes were trained on him, scrutinizing as he pumped his cock in his hand. 

"Yes, Sherlock. Nice and slow like that." She shivered as she felt her climax building. "Watch me, precious. Watch and know this could have been you inside me." She shook and arched as short sobs of pleasure tore from her throat. 

"Oh God, Sherlock!" The hand in his hair tugged viciously. He could see the muscles of her pelvic floor convulsing around her fingers and his mouth dropped in awe. 

She kept driving her fingers inside her, pushing her orgasm to crash over her harder. Her sobs of pleasure increased in volume until they became a ragged scream.

Suddenly his view in the mirror was obscured by a spatter of liquid. Molly had ejaculated, rather forcefully, painting the mirror before them with rivulets of fluid. 

He lost control at that point, biting into his lip and squeezing his cock to fight off his own orgasm and failed spectacularly. He shuddered as hot white streams of come poured over his hand and down her neck. 

Her eyes closed in on him fiercely. "You fucking brat!" She spat angrily still shaking with her own climax.

His expression was pained and he blushed crimson while his chest heaved with his efforts to regain even breathing. "I'm sorry, Miss! It was an accident. I didn't mean to-" 

She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath still lain across his lap. When she had effectively calmed herself she reached up to cup his face, urging him to look at her.

He looked down at her in his lap, bracing himself for her admonitions. Instead she smiled up at him warmly.

"Valiant effort, precious. Well done." 

He exhaled fully with relief at her kind words. "I'm sorry, I can do better..." He huffed. "Please, let me try again I'll be good. I won't fail you, Miss. Don't send me away, please."

She crumpled with empathy as she could feel shame and fear rolling off of him in waves. Molly now realized the true power Sherlock had given her. He was willingly laying himself bare for her. Exposing each feature as well as every flaw. He gave her his insecurity, trusting she would give him warmth and comfort in return, submitting to her scale, hoping to be measured as worthy. She lifted up and turned, climbing forward until she straddled his lap.

"No, no darling. I'll never send you away. It's new. I asked too much. That was unkind of me. I'm not angry with you." Her voice softened to a loving, gentle tone.

"No?" He peeked up at her. 

"No." She whispered. "Never. So long as you give me your best, it will always be enough. Besides, look..." She squared her shoulders. "You managed to not get any in my hair." 

He looked up to confirm that, indeed, his come had formed a neat little pool in the hollow of her throat and it only dripped down her sternum and between her breasts, leaving her hair immaculate. He gave a sheepish grin and she let him see her beam at him proudly.

Molly freed his other wrist and let him circle her in his arms and press his face into her shoulder. A hot tear on her shoulder and a small sniff were the only signs that he was affected emotionally by what had just taken place between them.

She rocked and shushed him, telling him he was her beautiful boy. That she was so proud. 

He gripped her tighter to his body and shook as he bit back the heaving sobs that threatened to spill out. 

"Oh how I adore you, my sweet boy." She cooed, curling her fingers through his hair and planting a series of tender kisses along his cheek and jaw. She tipped his chin up with her finger and saw the rawness in his eyes. She brushed his tears away with her thumbs, kissing each eyelid as she did so. 

When he opened his eyes he looked up at her and there was a mad moment in which he wasn't sure what to do, he was coming out of an emotional fog with Molly guiding him. But something felt missing.

There was something he was supposed to do or say, something that would perfectly summarize his experience in this moment. But all he could come up with was, "I love you, Molly."

No that couldn't be right. There was no way that in the vastness of his great mind that those small words could cover the expanse of what he she awoke in him. No, he needed to think it over, find something better. She deserved better.

Instead he murmured, "Thank you."

While he was lost in thought Molly was also fighting against her own mad impulses, she gave in and let them pull her under. She pressed her lips against his in a consuming kiss.

He required no encouragement, as soon as he felt her lips he opened under her like a floodgate and crashed onto her mouth with his own. His tongue searched for hers, tangling them together as soon as they made contact. 

He combed his fingers through her immaculate hair and pulled her in so their chests were pressed tightly against one another. He could feel his come on his skin, sticky and making their skin cling together. 

Too soon, she broke away from their kiss. Her soft eyes sharpened instantly, willing herself out of her own vulnerability. She stepped off his lap and bent down to unshackle his ankles. There were pressure marks from the bindings but no signs of circulation being cut off. Molly drew his feet up onto the ottoman to massage his feet and ankles. After giving each her full attention she stood and left the room, returning moments later with a warm wet flannel and a glass of water. 

He sat in repose, barely registering her ritualistic cleansing of his body. "Drink the water, Sherlock." She ordered and he lazily complied, still staring off into the distance in a haze while she tidied up. 

Once finished she rose up to exit the room again but he held her by the wrist. She turned to face him, he was trying to tell her something with his eyes. He needed more time, more time with her to reset. She received the message clearly and returned to his lap and cradled his head. 

He exhaled in relief.

 _Oh he is a tender one._ How appropriate that the often vicious and ruthless Sherlock Holmes required so much gentleness. Wanting most what he denies to others. 

She curled into him and pressed light kisses to his throat before following his eyes to the reflection in the (now clean) mirror he was staring into. 

"What do you see, precious?" She whispered. 

"Everything I need and none of what I deserve." 

Molly's expression hardened as she roughly ran her fingers through his curls. 

"I'm the one who decides what you deserve, Sherlock Holmes."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Molly Squirts. I went there. There's been a ton of funny HC flying around Tumblr about this particular thing. If you're not following moaninginthemorgue then I'm not really sure what you're doing with your life.
> 
> Here is some art I did for this fic: Molly's Domme persona.  
> http://o0katiekins0o.tumblr.com/post/98502806694/sneak-peak-of-mollys-domme-persona-for-nic-fit


	4. Take Me to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock feels his territory is being encroached upon when a person from Molly's past makes an appearance. Molly teaches him who belongs to whom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter is from the song "Take Me to Church" by Hozier. This song is a little deviation from my usual song selections but I heard and it was super inspirational for this chapter.

* * *

* * *

 "I'm the one who decides what you deserve, Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

* * *

 

Boredom was a virus in Sherlock Holmes' programming, shutting down his hard drive's cooling system and whirring his brain into mad, complex equations of infinite, irrational nothing. Overclocking him into insanity, //:halt and catch fire, //:self destruct immediate. He had to get out of the flat. He had to go. Stimulus, deduction, meaningful brain work was required.

Meaningful brain work, or perhaps a chemical reboot to clear his cache and begin again, but no. Not that, never that again. 

It took six tries in six different shops to finally find one with a new clerk. One he hadn't bullied or bribed into never selling to him again. He dithered on his selection, clearly he favored the noxious high-tar variety, the kind that flooded his brain's nicotine receptors with the most stimulant.

However as he was, once again, finding himself on his back behind the wagon he may as well soften the landing. Smoking is smoking, he was aware, however that didn't stop him from trying to rationalize it in his mind in some way. He looked over the rather impressive selection of cigarette varieties this particular shop had and landed on an obscene yellow packet bearing a, likely offensive, image of a Native American man in full regalia. 

"100% additive free. Organic Tobacco."No additives, organic. These were good words, clever marketing, regardless he was sold. Imported cigarettes, rather pricey not that it was a consideration for him but the garishly-colored packet was an annoyance.

The electric ding of the bell sounded behind him as the shop's door slammed shut and he stepped out into the street. Taking an anticipatory breath before reaching into the depths of his coat pocket to slide a cool cylinder in his fingers and press it to his lips. Lighting the end with a flick of the metal lighter he never rid himself of. 

He leaned against the brick of the building as he pulled the first cloud of smoke into his lungs. His mouth filled with the taste of pure tobacco, unencumbered by the flavor of additives he was now realizing had become integral to the experience. These cigarettes were for purists, not addicts. People who smoke for the simple enjoyment of it, not out of need to smoke.

The paper burned slowly, wrapping him in a cloud of smoke that more closely resembled a bonfire than a cigarette. He smoked it to the filter, and two more for good measure. These so-called "organic cigarettes" were made to be savored, not sucked down in a hurry, running counter to his motives. He didn't smoke to stop and smell the proverbial roses. He smoked to cram his brain full of chemical stimulant, a sort of lubricant to keep the cogs meshing effectively. 

He needed to air out, the smell was too obvious. He needed to take a walk around, people-watch. Observe and deduce the passers-by, whirl them around his mind like a centrifuge until he had separated them into their base parts.

People were, for the most part, simply an assemblage of habits and neuroses stacked upon memories and experiences. All laid bare to him and his scrutiny. Some people were exceptions, naturally. The Watsons were a popular example.

Mrs. Hudson, although predictable, was still surprising in her own way, not to mention useful. Lestrade is, to use Mycroft's term, a goldfish. Common, dull, however unique in his recognition and appreciation of Sherlock's work. Is a goldfish still a goldfish if it can tell the difference between the plastic castle and the Mona Lisa?

Then, of course there was Molly. Molly was swiftly becoming a challenge in his mind. 

He was having great difficulty reconciling the equation that was Molly Hooper. She was still the stalwart ever-present aid in the morgue. The glimmer of clever awash in a sea of tedium. How she was able to do her job being the only competent employee was a minor miracle in and of itself. That had not changed. After everything she had shown him and, he suspected, had yet to show him.

She remained ever true to his original assessment. She remained the quiet, kind, caring, dedicated friend she had been from the start. There was just more to her than he had seen, or had been allowed to see.

The inexorable and demanding mistress that held his body while his mind wandered to the dark places he hadn't permitted it to go before. She gave his body and mind a release he did not know he craved. She did not ask for anything from him but his dedication to her attentions. He wondered when she would allow him to experience her thoroughly. He wondered if that was something she wanted, at one time he thought he knew for sure.

There was a time when he believed tedious courtship culminating in equally tedious physical congress was all she wanted from him. He believed that was her ultimate motivation to help him. He'd used that, flirting and taunting to manipulate her for his purposes. Since the fall he'd been forced to acknowledge her feelings for him were purer than his initial assessment. She cared deeply, or seemed to. 

He was forced to acknowledge that, not only did she matter to him, but she mattered most. He wasn't entirely sure what he meant when he'd said those words to her initially but now he knew. They had put down roots in each other's lives, they were irrevocably intertwined. He needed her, and yes, cliche as it may be, he wanted her, every part of her, and he willingly submit himself the refining fire of her attentions. 

Like a shot, it occurred to him he wanted to see her, needed to see her. That idea made him uncomfortable. He hadn't a case, or even a legitimate excuse to visit her. There was nothing new he needed to discuss with her he just wanted to be with her, near enough to smell her, as base and low as that made him feel.

He wanted to be close enough without touching, close enough for his skin to prickle like static electricity with the memory of her touch. Maybe she could give him a job to do in the lab and he could work quietly alongside her in that way that made him feel as though they were two cosmic entities circling one another in a vacuum, an endless void where only they two existed.

Without another thought he approached the kerb with his arm raised. A moment later he was seated inside the cab instructing the driver to take him to Bart's.  

 

* * *

 

"Hello Miss... Oh! Er... Doctor Hooper." A soft voice addressed her anxiously. Molly's eyes rose from her paperwork and landed on the soft face of the slight girl. Pale, with dark hair cut into a sleek Bob, and the lightest dusting of freckles dotting her cheeks.

"Helena?" Molly said, recognizing the younger woman. 

Helena blushed "Doctor Briggs now." She pointed at the badge identifying her as St. Bart's staff. "I got accepted into the internship programme. I'm on rotation in A&E for now, who knows? Maybe oncology in a year or two."

"That's wonderful, Helena! Congratulations!" Molly replied, sincerely happy for the young woman and rose to give her a hug.

Helena returned her embrace. "I really can't thank you enough, Miss" Helena murmured against Molly's hair. "For... everything." 

Molly could feel the woman shudder in her embrace and Molly had to fight the urge to assume a dominate position and cradle Helena protectively. Molly adored all her former playmates. Each time they moved on from one another but it was always amicable. She considered them all friends and liked to believe that their play together made them both grow as people. The problem with playmates, in Molly's experience, had been in making a relationship work beyond the amorous activities. Connecting with someone sexually did not preclude the notion that you would get along well in life outside the bedroom. 

Unfortunately for Molly, all of her relationships that worked on an emotional level did not work for her sexually. Every time she showed her domme side a little, it would not be long for the relationship to begin to fizzle out. Tom had been the record for her. He was interested in submitting to Molly slightly at first, which gave her hope that she was finally with someone that could appreciate both aspects of her. She had held back so long that getting him beneath her the first time was like opening a floodgate. They were having quite a lot of sex for a time, but the strain began to show on Tom. He was fine when he thought it was a minor kink, an indulgence for special occasions, but when she began to dominate him during every sexual encounter he began to pull away. 

They fought the night of John and Mary's wedding. A fight precipitated by her stabbing him with her fork during Sherlock's speech. He snidely suggested that she got off on the act. Her face washed over with hurt and anger coloring her cheeks. 

"Let me guess, you want to beat me now, Molly?" he spat. 

Molly shook her head, fat tears welling up in her eyes. "You never said you didn't... I mean you never used your safe word. I thought you were happy with this. With me."

"Well I'm not bloody going to use a safe word am I? Fall down on my knees and beg you to stop like I'm some-some weakling!" 

Molly was hurt by that the most. He found the act of submitting to her disgusting. He allowed his limits to be pushed because he thought to using his safe word was somehow conceding defeat to her. And that being dominated by her was something shameful. She prided herself on being a caring dominant. She had only love and respect for everyone she'd ever played with. 

Trust, the foundation for every good relationship, did not exist between them any longer, if it ever had. She had been dishonest about herself from the beginning so she couldn't blame him entirely. She had set the tone of mistrust from the beginning by not trusting him enough to open up about her... predilections. When Molly left his flat that night, she left knowing full well it was the last time she would be there.

Now here she was again, with pretty Helena pressed into her chest, thanking her. She needed this moment. A reminder that her domination was appreciated. That it wasn't merely a disturbing aberration, but a loving gesture that bettered lives. Molly savored the moment, the warmth of a gentle, adoring sub pressed against her, sweetly submitting made Molly hum contentedly. Her eyes were closed when she felt a shadow cross over them. 

She broke the embrace and opened her eyes to see Sherlock staring at the two of them, eyes narrowed through his lashes. Tossing his belstaff imperiously across the table, he swiftly joined Molly by her side who introduced Helena as a new colleague and old friend.

"Oh Sherlock Holmes! I remember seeing something about you on the news! Pleasure to meet you!" Helena held out her hand to shake but he merely scanned her up and down, taking in her life story from every innocuous detail of her appearance. When he finished his assessment he gave a tight-lipped smile and turned to Molly. Leaving Helena with her hand outstretched. 

"Doctor Hooper when you have a moment, I need a word. I will be waiting for you in your office." He said before pivoting and making a beeline for her office door. He did not give Helena a second acknowledgment when he strolled over to open the door, shutting it loudly from the other side. 

"Sorry about him. He just sort of, does that." Molly shrugged but with a pinched look on her face and a ghost of anger in her eyes. Helena colored and bit her lip, remembering that look. "Oh I see..." She said, hiding her knowing smile. "Seems I just got him in trouble." 

Molly eased a bit and chuckled. "No sweetie, he's gotten himself into trouble." Molly blushed, smiling from the side of her mouth. 

"Well I was going to ask if you wanted to play again sometime, but it looks like you've got your hands full with that one." Helena giggled. "It was good to see you Miss- I mean- Molly. Let's have lunch sometime, you know, just to catch-up." Her voice was meek at the last sentence and she blushed again.

Molly nodded. "That would be lovely, just give me a call." She leaned forward and brushed the younger woman's cheek with a kiss before watching her turn to go.

 

* * *

 

At the door to her office Molly took a moment to compose herself. She smoothed her hand over her ponytail and down the front of her lab coat. Breathing deeply she opened the door, stepping in she quickly locked it behind her. Whatever confrontation she was about to have with Sherlock it would be best left uninterrupted.

Sherlock jumped up from his position seated at the small sofa in her office and crossed the room in a few long strides until he was before her, hovering inside her personal space. 

"Sherlock-" Molly gasped when he immediately dropped to his knees before her, drawing his arms around her waist and nuzzling into the skin of her belly. She could feel his breath warming her middle through her top.

"Sherlock..." She sat her hand atop his head, her voice lowering warmly.

"She wants you." He spoke, mouth moving against her, forming the shape of his words.

"Yes." She breathed and his head snapped up to look at her, shocked by her bare honesty. "Does that surprise you?" She gently pushed a curl back from his forehead before lowering her hand to trace the shell of his ear. He closed his eyes and hummed.

"People find me desirable, Sherlock. You're not the only person to want what I can give." She gave the thin cartilage at the top of his ear a sharp pinch. He winced but made no sound. "You weren't be the first person to ever want me and you certainly won't be the last." She pinched hard enough to make him take a sharp inward breath through his gritted teeth and cling to her waist even harder.

"So arrogant. So presumptuous." She spoke, releasing his ear to claw her hands through his hair, raking her nails over his scalp. He shivered against her, goose flesh raising over his neck and forearms. "The great Sherlock Holmes made a judgement about poor Molly Hooper six years ago, and blindly clings to his failed theory even as he's drawn to discover just how wrong he's always been. Isn't that right, precious?" Her voice was back to that thickly sweet tone even as she hunched possessively over him so her breasts nearly brushed the top of his head.

He took advantage of her position in order to dip the tips of his fingers beneath the hem of her top to caress the soft, warm skin he found there, raising slightly and nuzzling deeper until he could feel a clothed breast against his face. Memories of their first encounter flooded forward with perfect clarity and his tongue felt heavy in his watering mouth.

She was having none of that. Gripping the curls at the nape of his neck, she jerked his head back and her face was in his, crowding him menacingly. "Answer me."

He parted his lips instinctively at the feel of her breath against his face. His full, pouting mouth open to receive her harsh consuming kiss but she did not grant it. Leaning forward so that his nose brushed her chin. He moved his head as far as her strong grip on his hair would allow to caress her jawline with his face, enticing her. She had to draw on her self control not to give in to his sweet attentions. However, she had given him an order and he was being defiant.

She slid down to her knees so that they were nearly eye-level. "Answer me, precious!" She growled before attacking his throat, nipping harshly at the tender, heated skin just above his collar bone until he tensed, letting out a tortured "ah!" even as he leaned away to give her more sensitive flesh to abuse. 

"No, Miss." He rasped. And with that she pulled away. He turned his head to face her and his heart leaped then promptly sunk at the sight of unrestrained fury blazing in her soft brown eyes. The strange cocktail of reactions she was able to provoke from him was dizzying and addictive. If she were a witch he would be the cauldron, bubbling away as she moved around him, casting strange new things into him. Brewing some new and intoxicating potion so deeply inside him that he was no longer sure if he was the vessel or the solution. 

_Double, double toil and trouble; Fire blaze, and cauldron bubble._

"Lies! Mendacity! Oh you are such a brat, my precious thing." She hissed before bowing forward and biting into his lip until she tasted the sharp coppery tang of blood on her tongue. She lapped at the wound she'd made there and he pressed in to deepen the kiss. She did not allow this breach of conduct. Instead she rose again, looming above him. 

"Strip." A single word command, simple enough, yet he looked up at her in bewilderment.

He glanced around nervously. "Here?" 

"You came to me, darling. You acted out of turn in front of a dear friend. You require discipline. Strip now or leave and do not return unless you've a reason to disturb my work. Your choice." Her voice was demanding, yet also warm and sweet, and oh God how he wanted to taste her.

She stepped to the side, granting a path to the exit. Knees wobbling somewhat after so long on the hard tile he brushed his hands over his clothes to remove any lingering dust that may have accumulated. He looked at her, then again at the door. Brushing his tongue over his lower lip he swore he could still taste a bit of her lingering in the cracks of his raw lips. He knew then he could not leave without taking whatever punishment she would generously dole out upon him. A shiver ran through him in anticipation. 

He watched her face as he made a show of sliding his jacket down his arms, laying it neatly over her desk, reveling in the tiny smile he saw curling the edge of her lips. He bowed his head slightly, reverentially, his hands moving over the buttons of his cuffs, then his shirt front. He glanced up at her through his lashes. His shirt joined his jacket on her desk and she began circling him. She dragged her fingers over his flushed chest around his shoulders to his back. 

"Shoes and socks next." She ordered silkily. He did not require an order for that. It was common sense. His trousers weren't going far without the shoes removed but he did enjoy the sound of her voice as she ordered him.

Bending down to undo his laces and remove each boot he realized the reason for the order. She had divested herself of her lab coat and was embracing him from behind, folding over his back and unclasping the hooks of his black bespoke trousers. He felt her dainty hands slide beneath the band of his pants and migrate lower, circling his hardening cock without touching it. 

She took a moment to delight in the feel of his crisp pubic hair tickling against her palms before moving lower and grasping his bollocks. He froze, tipping his head back and biting into his lip, forgetting the mark she'd left there. The sting contrasting against the tingle of arousal he felt coiling in his groin was delicious. He was already hard, had been since he'd pressed his face into her stomach when she entered earlier but he could feel his cock lurch in anticipation. His revelry was cut off by her grip on his bollocks tightening to a threatening degree.

"You forget yourself, precious. I've given you an order." She spoke low against his ear, her voice shaking him.

He'd been driven to distraction, curled over his knees as she teased his balls with only one shoe removed. He gathered his wits about him and redoubled his efforts to carry out her orders swiftly and obediently. A moment later he was barefoot and reaching to pull down his trousers, hooking his thumbs in his pants as well.

"No. Leave your pants." She said abruptly, straightening and moving away from him to walk behind her desk.

He did as he was told, stepping out of his trousers, he folded them neatly and stored them atop her desk with the remainder of his clothes. He turned to her awaiting his next order only to find her sitting at her chair, feet casually propped up on her desk top, no regard whatsoever for his expensive clothes.

She ground her shoe heel into the trousers he'd laid out so neatly. Her grin was wicked as she watched him swallow at the sight of her disregard for his things. 

"On your knees in front of the sofa now." She twirled her index finger in the air in a gesture meant to indicate that he should be facing away from her. "You may use this to cushion your knees, if you must." She took his jacket from his pile of clothes, balling it up and tossing it into his face. 

"Yes, Miss. Thank you." He said, pulling his jacket from his face and folding it into a small cushion before placing it on the floor in front of the sofa. His knees followed next and he sat in his supplicating pose in silence, staring at the back of the sofa.

He heard a drawer creak and a rummaging sound followed by the sounds of rustling cloth falling. The moments seemed to drag on before her sharp voice rang out in the silence of the office. 

"Bend over, face in the cushion, take your pants down." He felt a tingle rise over his back and a flush of shame but did as was directed nonetheless, pushing his pants down to his thighs, as far as his position against the couch would allow. 

He met resistance at the crease where his arse met his thighs, the band framing his backside handsomely. Molly had to fight the urge to gasp at the sight.

"So lovely..." She murmured, approaching him softly. 

He could not see but based on how quietly she'd approached him he deduced she must have at least removed her shoes and heard the thud of something being sat down beside his calf. "Soft" She continued, her hand landing roughly against his left cheek, not hard enough to sting, just enough to startle. 

"Tender" she noted, giving his flesh a rough pinch that made him squirm before admiring the red bloom forming there. She cupped both arse cheeks with her hands, gliding them up his back and back down to his arse again. "Have you deduced what I'm about to do to you, darling?" 

He nodded into the sofa. 

"Tell me. What is Miss Molly to do with her wicked boy on his knees, pants down his legs and arse in the air, after such naughty behavior?" She traced the globes of his arse cheeks with her index finger in the shape of a figure eight, grazing teasingly into his cleft.

He didn't speak, just groaned and bucked into her hand. She surged forward and bit into the supple flesh of his arse cheek hard, making him arch and cry out. 

"If you insist on refusing to answer me, I may as well gag you. Do you want that, darling? Shall I shove a gag in that pretty mouth?" 

A whimper was his only response. 

"What was that? You'll have to speak clearly." 

"No Miss. No gag, please." He begged.

Oh how she loved the sweet strain in his voice when she had him beneath her, desperate and needy. 

"Answer the question."

"Spank me. Spank my arse! I was wicked Miss Molly, I'm sorry. Make it hurt and I promise to be good. ah!" She snapped the band of his pants against his bollocks. 

"Degenerate." Molly spat laying into his white flesh with the palm of her hand then giving it a soothing rub.

"You're a filthy, disgusting boy with appalling manners." She nearly shouted.

Another firm swat, harder this time. He groaned helplessly crushing his hips against the edge of the sofa in a futile attempt to escape as the brutal assault increased in tempo and strength. Now he was whimpering into the sofa cushion, wriggling uncontrollably between swats. 

Blow after blow caused him to jerk and grind against the sofa. She spanked him until her hand was almost numb from the sting. He was fisting the material of the sofa and a single tear welled in the corner of his eye.

She gave him a reprieve from his punishment to rove her hands over his heated bum, dipping her finger into his cleft to run it up from his perineum to the tight ring of muscle between.

She felt him clench, the press of his cheeks against her finger was amusing. "So shy...  so there's nothing to those rumors after all." She chuckled pressing harder. He raised his head, craning to look at her mouth agape.

"Not even once?" She cocked an eyebrow in curiosity and his face fell, swallowing hard he shook his head. "Hard to believe, you are such a dirty thing." She pressed in harder so that her finger tip breached his opening and he closed his eyes, breathing heavily and biting his lip, reopening the mark she'd given him earlier.

"Do you want this, precious? Do you want my finger up your tight bottom?" He blushed crimson to match his well-used arse cheeks.

"Oh dear, is that shame I see on your face? You should be ashamed, you beastly boy. Look at you, practically begging me to finger fuck you. I guess the papers are right about one thing... You're a slut."

He groaned into the fabric of the sofa at her accusation.

"Or are you just a tease?" She moved her hand away. He groaned again at the loss.

"Well which is it? Are you a slut I can use how I wish or are you a tease? I can just as easily leave you like this and go back to my paperwork." 

He murmured into the sofa. 

"Speak up!" She snapped. 

"Slut, Miss Molly! I'm your slut. I want it. I want everything you'll give me... anything." He was trembling from being in his position bent over the sofa and fighting the urge to relieve some of the pressure on his member by rubbing against the sofa. 

He heard the sound of rummaging and the snapping of latex and a bottle opening, the smell of lubricant rose around him. 

"Turn over." She ordered.

Shakily, he rose to flop on the sofa to find Molly on her knees in just her bra and knickers, hair down around her shoulders and a gloved hand with a generous dollop of lubricant on the fingertips. He gasped at the sight of her. Warm brown eyes shining with mischief and a quirk of a smile slanting her lips. "Budge down. Knees up. Feet on the sofa."

He complied, propping his elbows against the back of the sofa so he could watch her from his position and to keep his raw aching bum risen over the rough material of the sofa.

She did not break eye contact when her ungloved hand grasped his heavy swollen cock by the base. He let out a slow ragged breath at the contact.

She swirled her cold, wet fingers against the sweet spot of his perineum and lower, flicking against his taut opening. He wriggled reflexively at the intrusion.

"Easy, darling." She spoke soothingly. "Let me take care of you." 

He took a deep breath and relaxed his lower body as much as he could while his muscles shook with the effort of holding him upright against the sofa back. 

She wiggled and pushed her index finger upward until she was breaching his bottom, pushing onward until she was inside him to the first knuckle.

She stopped to allow him to adjust before going in to the second, never ceasing her teasing caress of his throbbing member with her bare hand.

He gasped when her entire finger was inside him. She swirled it in gentle widening circles before pulling out and pushing again with two fingers. He reared his head back, chest heaving with staggered breaths and the occasional whimper.

Slowly, she pumped in and out of him in a steady rhythm, gripping his prick firmly and sliding her hand up and down in tandem with her motions inside him. 

He was bucking and groaning in earnest now, sweat beading up under his curls. His lips were stretched wide over his teeth. 

Then his arms gave out and he fell down onto her fingers. Molly froze, waiting for his reaction. It may have been an accident but it appeared to be a happy accident as he gasped and moaned, thrusting clumsily against her hand.

"Oh look at you." She crooned. "Fucking yourself on Miss Molly's hand. My slutty boy."

She pushed upward to meet him thrust for thrust, circling inside him to find the swollen gland within. 

He gasped and tightened when she curled her fingers to press into his prostate, and circled his dick with her hand.

"How does it feel?" She asked huskily, pumping away as they found their rhythm.

His thrusts refined into a smooth rocking motion, pressing her fingers inside him and pushing his cock through her fist in smooth, circular movements.

"Wrong." He answered breathily. "But so good, don't stop!" 

Molly giggled sweetly. "Stop? I would do this forever if I could. I do love to see you like this. But I think I'll make you come now. If you promise to be a good boy." 

"Oh yes, Miss! Yes, I'll be good for you, I swear it. I need it. I need to come! Please!", he plead needily and it was like music to her ears. 

The hand the grasped his cock slid down to his bollocks, gripping them tightly before swallowing his length down her throat. Sucking noisily while she balanced his heavy balls in one hand and fucked his arse with the other. 

"Oh Jesus Christ!" He cried while his balls tightened against his body and she bobbed on his erection, working her throat around him, slick wet fingers hitting the sweet spot inside him.

"Molly, I can't- I'm going to-  ahhhh! Fuck!" He came in a hot rush into her mouth, trembling with the force of it. He reached forward and stroked her face, gently. Relishing the sight of her above him 

Molly gulped down his release, narrowing her eyes angrily as she registered an unusually bitter aftertaste. Letting his softening cock fall from her lips and removing her hands from his body. She rose brusquely, stepping away from him as he fell in a boneless heap against the sofa. He hissed as the rough fabric of the sofa dug into his raw bum.

He rose his shaky arms in invitation, begging her with his eyes. 

"Molly..." 

"You've been smoking!" She snapped, crossing the room to the waste basket beside her desk. She snapped off the glove and tossed it in the bin, then paced back and forth rubbing her temples meditatively.

"Yes." He confessed. He respected her too much to try to lie, and anyway she had all the evidence she needed to disprove him. He didn't want to incite any further anger. "Yes, I was...bored." He realized the feebleness of his excuse as soon as it left his lips.  "I know that's not a good reason, I just... Molly could you come here please?"

She sighed, composing herself. She strode over to him and allowed him to draw her into his lap and circle her body with his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying." He reasoned, looping one arm over her bare stomach to grasp the hip on the opposite side while the other arm rose to comb his fingers through her hair. "It was a bad day, please forgive me." He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her scent.

He felt her relax against him with the release of a long breath. Feeling particularly bold, he bowed his head and planted gentle kisses along her jaw and throat. 

 "I forgive you, Sherlock." She breathed, indulging in his gentle kisses for the moment. "How do you feel?" Remembering her aftercare duties. 

"Mmm weightless..." He slanted a smile against her throat.

"How's your bum?" She smirked as she asked. 

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "Rode hard and put away wet."

"Poor baby." Molly mewled, leaning her head back to plant a gentle kiss to his mouth. He returned the kiss sleepily, too blissed out and exhausted to try and take any liberties by attempting to deepen it. He sweetly submitted to her affection, opening slightly to accept the trailing of her soft tongue over his raw lips.

Their tongues touched briefly and Sherlock sighed into her mouth. She broke away. "Oh Sherlock, you taste like an ash tray. I'll have to punish you for that later." Her voice lowered in her domme voice and he shivered.

"Yes, I suppose you will." He agreed, a lazy smile on his lips.

"First things first. Stay right there." She stood up and strolled toward her desk. Behind it was a mini fridge where she kept cups of yoghurt and beverages. She opened it and fished out a few things before digging around in another few drawers and returning with an arm load. 

"Here, Sherlock." She pressed a bottle of water and two paracetamol in his hand and he obediently took them. As he was gulping down the water thirstily, Molly placed a pillow on the unoccupied side of the sofa.

Finished with the water he was soft and pliant, drooping against the sofa until she gently guided him to lay face down on the pillow. 

She took a moment to admire the view. He was so adorable, dozing like a baby with his red bum in the air and his pants still half down his legs. Her heart swelled with affection. 

She leaned over the arm rest with a bottle of lidocaine lotion she had left in her office after an unfortunate experience when a friend nagged her into to trying Sun beds. She warmed the lotion in her palms before soothing it over his sore bum.

He sighed contentedly at this, eyes still tightly shut and face pressed into the pillow.

When she was finished applying the lotion she tugged his pants back on and threw a blanket over him, tucking him in nice and cozy. She leaned over to kiss his forehead before returning to dress herself.

Back in her work clothes, her hair back up in her sensible ponytail she crossed the room toward the door and flipped off the light. 

"Molly." Sherlock called as she gripped the doorknob.

"Yes?" She responded quietly. 

"I just need to rest a bit. I would like to take you for dinner when your shift is over. I've an important matter to discuss with you." He announced.

"Oh Uhm... Alright, Sherlock." Molly bristled slightly.

'We need to talk' and all the variations thereupon rarely meant anything good. She did a final check before opening the door.

"Molly-" he called again.

"Yes, Sherlock." Her voice carried a tone of impatience.

"The cigarettes are in my coat pocket. You may take them." He murmured. 

Molly smiled warmly. "Good boy."

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Help I'm Alive!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly are on different pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's song is "Help I'm Alive" by Metric. Usually the song selections are meant to give insight into either Sherlock's or Molly's perspective. (Usually Molly's.) This song is for the both of them

Sherlock did not believe in God, not as the notion was commonly understood. Even with his minimal understanding of astrophysics, he was well aware that the universe was endlessly vast.

Einstein's Probability Theory states that any random phenomenon is theoretically possible within a mathematically calculable degree. So yes, Sherlock acknowledged that it was possible (however remotely) that something rather like a God could exist.

It was simply that God held no interest for him. And he was equally certain that if a being such as God did exist it would have no interest in Sherlock either. Remarkable creatures though they both may be. 

That did not mean Sherlock couldn't understand the nature of worship. He was becoming painfully and passionately familiar with the experience. Sherlock knew how to pray, he just gave them to something he did believe in. 

He prayed to Molly.

Whether she could hear the voice in his mind that cried out to her from his knees was irrelevant. She gave him what he needed.

He was distantly aware that what he was beginning to feel for Molly was likely unhealthy. He could not be bothered to care. He wanted the divine sickness that was his Miss Molly.

He wanted her to keep him at her feet. Warming her glow, writhing in her blaze. Burning and soothing again and again.

That had become the puzzle- how to stay beneath her.

So far their encounters had not been for service. Rather than being called upon to serve her, he'd only been brought forward for punishment, discipline. He felt clumsy and foolish.

His fumbling had earned him hot stripes across his backside and a delicious emptiness inside. It was as if she was able to pull something dark and heavy out of him and absorb it. But rarely was he allowed to touch the source of his salvation. 

He was finding it maddening as it was alluring. His thirst for mystery was at odds for his distaste for failure. He wanted her badly but with each encounter he felt closer and further away. He didn't know where he stood.

It was terrifying and brilliant.

This was not a thing he could have shared with The Woman.

She was transparent in her desires and he'd given her want she wanted, in part only. He'd fucked her, allowed her to drag him from his pedestal of ascetic denial. But he did not let her dominate him. 

Sherlock Holmes does not desire to be dominated.

No.

He chooses to be cultivated. Honed and crafted and warmed between two hands, softening like clay. Reshaped and renewed.

Then swaddled in benevolence and tucked away safe and sound.

Nothing about The Woman inspired a sense of security. She was dangerous and exciting and beautiful. But there was treachery in her. 

Molly was a traitor only to herself. She betrayed her affections for him and her own best interests in favor of his. It seemed all Molly did was give to him and keep him safe. Saving him from himself almost constantly.

It was humiliating to think how thoroughly ruined he would be without her.

Was it really asking too much to be allowed to earn back a little of his own dignity through dutiful service? 

John scoffed inside his mind. ' _Dutiful service'? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?_

"Shut up, John." He murmured, settling deeper underneath the blanket Molly had wrapped around him after his punishment. His attempt at blocking out his mind's apparition of his friend proving entirely fruitless.

_Where I come from we called that getting your leg over._

"Shut. Up. John!"

_Making the beast with two backs._

"Shut up!"

_The horizontal mambo._

"Enough!" Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears.

John sighed. _You know very well that doesn't work._

Mind palace John was quite correct. Sensory deprivation was rather counter-productive in this instance.

_Oh yes, you're so above it all, aren't you?_ John sneered, shaking his head in disbelief.

_Fine, go ahead and tell yourself that. But don't for one second try and say you only want her out of some sense of obligation. She's not interested in your pity fuck._

Sherlock pulled the blanket up so it covered his head. It was unfair of his mind to sic John after him while he was in such a vulnerable state.

_Besides, what do you think is so special about your cock that it could ever make up for how awful you've been to her? To make up for all she's done for you?_ John's laugh was mirthful in his typical 'I can't believe you can be so clueless' way.

"She wants me." Sherlock reasoned. "If I offer she will take me."

_Maybe._ John answered. _But what's that got to do with the price of tea in China?_

"What?" Sherlock was baffled. "How is that relevant?"

John smirked. _It's not. That's the point, you berk!_

"Go away. I'm supposed to be resting." Sherlock murmured in frustration.

_So rest. No one's stopping you._ John replied, looking at him smugly. 

Sherlock couldn't remain asleep with John's look of delight, reveling in Sherlock's "spectacular ignorance" playing on a loop before of his Mind's eye. 

"Hell!" He swore, rising from the sofa abruptly to dress in a strop. He didn't bother with the light in the office as he pulled on his clothes hastily and stomped out of the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him. 

Mercifully, It appeared Molly had gone, likely to the morgue or canteen. Sherlock was internally grateful she was about to bear witness to his hasty exit from the lab. 

 

* * *

 

Molly bumped into Helena for a second time that day. She was in line at the canteen eyeing the luncheonette's meager offerings with some suspicion before settling on a salad and a cup of minestrone. Molly had only snagged a muffin, still too buzzed from her little scene with Sherlock an hour previous to do anything as productive as eat.

Ironic, since she'd only retreated to the canteen because she was unable to focus on her paperwork thinking of Sherlock curled up on the small sofa in her office and fighting back the urge to join him.

For what? A cuddle? It was preposterous. This, whatever it was, with Sherlock would be difficult to manage if she could not maintain a healthy distance.

_This is an arrangement not a relationship._ She told herself over and over again like a mantra. A mutually beneficial ( _fun, hot- enough! Don't be stupid._ ) _...arrangement._

When Molly passed by Helena's table, the younger woman waved her over and invited her to sit.

"When I agreed to lunch, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Molly giggled, sliding into the chair opposite the petite intern.

"Oh this doesn't count since I'm not even certain this counts as food." Helena looked over her meal, a sad little pile of veg over iceberg lettuce and sniffed at the dubious looking soup. "So you're still on the hook for one proper lunch, Dr. Hooper." Helena beamed prettily. 

"Of course!" Molly agreed, distractedly picking at her overly dry muffin. A long pause stretched out between them.

"So... I took a moment to Google your Uhm... _friend_ , Sherlock Holmes." Helena's pronouncement broke the silence. Molly's eyes snapped up to meet Helena's. "Odd sort of bloke isn't he?"

Molly shrugged noncommittally. "His methodology is a bit unusual, but he gets results. Used to give the Met and the staff fits, but he's practically an institution around here now." Molly smiled inwardly imagining Sherlock's reaction to being described as anything as... well, _institutional_ as an institution. He'd be horrified.

Helena gave a look that spoke volumes. She was clearly not interested in discussing Sherlock's methods or his casework. Molly absently wondered if shy little Helena would have the nerve to actually ask what she really wanted to know.

"Known him long?" Helena asked quietly.

_So she's chosen to beat around the bush. That's just as well._ Molly sensed she might be fishing but kept that thought to herself. 

"We've worked together for several years. It was a little rocky the first few but we have a.... rapport now, you could say." 

"'Rapport' sounds like a bit of an understatement." Helena gave a meaningful expression, pursing her lips and stabbing at her salad. She kept her eyes down as she spoke.

Molly didn't know how to respond to this line of inquiry. She wasn't entirely certain where Helena was going with this. 

"The press seems to love him. Half of the articles are about his cases and the other half are about the kinds of things he likes to get up to in his off hours." Helena took a bite of salad, shielding her mouth with the back of her hand primly while she chewed.

Molly breathed steadily, becoming annoyed with this conversation. "You really can't believe everything you read." Her voice reaching the low near-monotone belying her irritation. It was abundantly clear Helena was fishing now. 

"7 times a night did sound a bit exaggerated. Still the truth seems far more fascinating." Slightly emboldened, Helena raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Molly was unsure if Helena was attempting to be threatening but couldn't help but feel as though she was at least intentionally toeing the line. for what purpose she could not have contrived.

She had never betrayed the confidence of a sub and did not even feel ready to even talk about it yet when it was all so new and undefined with him. And especially not with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, an ex. She made the call that it was time to exit the situation as diplomatically as possible.

"Well I'd love to catch up but I really need to get back to the lab and check on some specimens. I just popped down for a snack so I'd better get getting going. It was good talking. Uhm... I'll see you later, yeah?" 

Helena looked incredibly disappointed but hid it with a cheery smile. "Yeah of course. Don't let me keep you."

Molly eyed the sad pile of crumbs that comprised the canteen's best approximation of a muffin, sitting lackadaisically within it's paper wrapper, before deciding to cut her losses and toss it. She said goodbye to Helena, throwing the pastry into the trash on her way out.

 

* * *

 

 

Deciding halfway to take a quick stop to the break room that housed the coffee maker, Molly threw together a quick brew for herself and Sherlock before returning to the lab. With both hands full she backed out through the break room door turning abruptly only to crash into the body of someone rushing by, spilling hot coffee down her front.

She squealed with the shock and sting when she looked up into the face of her assailant. Who else could it be but Sherlock Holmes, who for his part at least, had the decency to look startled. But she wasn't certain he was startled because of the collision itself or that it had jolted him from a deep reverie.

"Oh Molly! ... Here let me-" he produced a handkerchief from thin air as far as Molly could tell and began awkwardly dabbing at the valley between her breasts. 

"It's fine Sherlock just-" she tried to restrain her irritation, "take these." She shoved the two half empty mugs into his hands and snatched the hanky making more thorough work than he had the nerve to do in the middle of a hospital corridor. 

Managing to balance both mugs in one large hand Sherlock pulled her by her arm into the break room so they would at least be away from prying eyes.

Once they were in relative privacy Sherlock tossed the mugs haphazardly into the sink before turning on the balls of his feet to attack the buttons of her blouse.

"Sherlock what-!?" Molly nearly protested but lifted her arms to grant him access almost by instinct. 

"Are you burnt? Does it hurt?" He pulled her blouse open and began to examine the red inflamed flesh with delicate hands.  

Who is this man? Molly had to wonder as Sherlock bent his head to blow cool air over her chest making her own breath catch in her throat. In all the years Molly had known him she could only recall one particularly mortifying incident in which she'd ever heard Sherlock apologize. She was shocked more than anyone that the one time he made an apology it had been directed at her.

Lately Sherlock had been acting like a bumbling mess and had apologized to her at least half a dozen times. For the life of her she couldn't imagine what his game was. It couldn't be the addition of sex, that had always on the table as far as she was concerned. More likely he was buttering her up to ask an unusually huge favor of her.

She groaned internally remembering that he had asked her to dinner this very evening. Most likely he would hit her with his big request at some strategically advantageous moment during the meal. Molly could watch the entire interaction play out in her mind.

He would take her jacket and pull out her chair, make some arbitrary compliment about her hair. She would be nervous and drink more than she should while Sherlock dazzles her with witty conversation. Once she was sufficiently blind-sighted and vulnerable he would throw out his request and like a soft idiot she would say yes without thinking, whatever to keep him smiling at her.

The spell would wear off in the silence of the tube ride home and she would go to bed that night telling herself off for being such a pathetic sap. When she thought about it objectively the whole event sounded dreadful. She wasn't certain that even Sherlock's company for the duration of the meal worth the aftermath 

She was brought back into the moment by Sherlock's eyes lifting to meet her gaze from where he was bent, face so close to her chest she could feel him taking in air to blow out over her skin.

"You made coffee for me." He wasn't asking but she nodded anyway. He took a few steps backward, pulling her along by her hips. He kicked a chair out from the table and seated himself, pulling her to stand between his legs. 

With him seated, their height difference meant her breasts were nearly perfectly eye level. He planted his face between them, opening his mouth against the skin over her sternum.

Molly's knees nearly buckled when she felt his tongue slide against her and she gasped. She reflexively reached to the back of his head to thread her fingers through his hair, still slightly tangled and and riotous from their previous encounter.

She panicked inside when she realized she was being pulled under. The rational part of her brain was still sending off alarm bells but she could feel the connection severing. 

Sherlock's hand migrated upward cupping one breast outside the fabric of her bra. There was nothing for it, she was going to have to stop now before she did something foolish like kiss him.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked breathlessly.

"Mm?" He answered, not removing his face from between her breasts. 

"What do you want?" She gasped feeling his tongue trace the outline of one breast.

He raised his head to look up at her. "Really Molly? I thought I was making myself clear." He punctuated the finale statement by grazing over the exposed portion of her breast with his teeth.

She fought the lusty fog rising in her eyes and pushed away from him. This man who expressed doubt just hours before over undressing in her locked office was licking her tits in a break room down a busy corridor. 

"Yes, perfectly clear, Sherlock." She wrapped her arms across her chest defensively. "Do you mind just asking for what you want instead of doing this song and dance?"

He favored her with a look of bafflement. "I'm not sure how to answer that question, Molly." He loosed a shaking breath, smoothing his hair over compulsively.

Molly gave a sigh of defeat. "I know that recently we've shared certain... intimacies. Nothing is changed Sherlock. If there's anything you want or-or need..." She felt her thoughts drift for a moment. "Yeah, just ask. You've only to ask. No need to up the ante. I'll still help you with-with... you know... anything." As she spoke she was losing more and more confidence in her speech. Her final word coming out in just over a whisper as Sherlock's face hardened into his patently obvious look of haughty derision.

Standing abruptly he straightend the lines on his jacket by tugging firmly on the hems, rolling his shoulders and sniffing. "Yes... Well..."

"Right and... Whatever you wanted to ask over dinner, ypu can just ask now. No more bribes, please. I'm your friend, not one of your tramps you pay for information." Although she was not forceful with her words he blinked as if they stung him a bit.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet awkwardly, as if too uncomfortable to meet her eye line. "Alright." He took a measured breath, rose his face to meet her gaze. "I've done research. Both in the past and more of late."

Molly nodded, encouraging him to get on with it.

"In arrangements such as ours it is common for the participants to enter into a contract in order to better communicate boundaries and... desires." 

Molly stiffened, "Ah yes well..." Her face hurt from trying to contain her grin even as her cheeks burned. "Ah yes that well... I suppose we did rather put the cart before the horse with the uhm..." Molly made a wild hand gesture to articulate what her mind suddenly refused to phrase. 

Just then a gritty-eyed nurse barreled in with eyes intent on the coffee machine as if it were her only lifeline in the world. Too tired to use any kind of finesse the worn out nurse set to preparing her coffee with broad ham-fisted movements clanging the coffee pot and mugs around noisily. 

Molly turned her back to the nurse quickly to button her top. All the while, she and Sherlock looked at each other, exchanging conspiratorial glances since.

Blouse completely buttoned, Molly sighed with a tone of finality. "Right. So... Dinner tonight?"

"I'll text you." Sherlock confirmed

With that Molly smiled warmly and leaned toward Sherlock. He stiffened, unsure of her next move. She rested her hands on his chest and rose up on her toes, close enough to press her lips to his, but instead she reached into the pocket of his belstaff, retrieving the packet of cigarettes she'd forgotten before.

"These are mine. Remember, Mr. Holmes?" She grinned wickedly and placed a kiss on the lid. Winking she strolled out of the break room and on with her day, looking to dinner with excitement rather than dread.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of smut. I'm gearing up for an especially filthy installment.


	6. Come Here Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, documents, domination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is "Come Here Boy" by Imogen Heap.
> 
> Again thanks is due to OhAine whom I adore and, without whom, who knows when this would have ever been updated?
> 
> Also special shout out to Sundance201 who is my personal favorite Domme!Molly author! If you haven't read "Dark In My Imagination" you should remedy that immediately.

As a young girl of five Molly had never owned a doll. Being raised alone by a widowed father she never had the motivation or opportunity to acquire one. The desire to possess such a thing honestly never occurred to her.

She had seen other girls with them but could not comprehend what possible use or enjoyment they got from them. Undressing and dressing them for different pretend scenarios then undressing and dressing them again. She had her own hair to brush, her own clothes to wear, although they were nowhere near as glamorous as a fashion doll's, she had nowhere fashionable she needed to be. Then again, neither did the dolls, but that never seemed to occur to the girls playing with them. Nor did they seem to appreciate it when she pointed that fact out. 

Per usual, Molly found herself alone, trailing the perimeter of the schoolyard until she happened upon a boy playing, alone much like herself. Lain before him were all manner of bright plastic costumed heroes, soldiers and masked men in capes. She watched as he enacted a scene in which the characters challenged one another to single combat. In his little scenes they quipped and crashed into each other, flying and hovering and crashing again until he caught her spying on him. "What do you want?"

Molly didn't know why but she assumed the boy would never acknowledge her. She glanced around a moment, making sure it wasn't someone else he was talking to before taking a deep breath and stammering out, "C-can I play?"

"These aren't for girls." he responded more defensive sounding than an attempt to put her off.

Molly paused for a moment, almost willing to accept that answer but instead piped up with "Why not?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as if her question were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Do you even know what I'm doing?"

"Yes." She answered.

"What then?"

"You're making them fight. It's a battle. Can I play now?" 

The boy was slightly taken aback, he hadn't expected her to insist. "I don't have any girl ones." he answered as if that were the lynch pin of his argument. He looked a little surprised when she stepped forward and plopped down, crossing her legs as she sat across from him. 

"That's alright. I'll play with... this one." She picked up the figure furthest from the rest, the one that looked least used, a dark-haired man in a long black cloak with sinister looking eyes. The boy's reaction told her she'd chosen correctly, his least favorite one. 

To her surprise he continued his earlier game, though instead, this time he challenged the figure in her hand to a fight. In her best impression of a deep male voice she accepted, but instead of allowing his figure to crash into hers she effectively dodged his attacks several times before the boy became frustrated. "You're not doing it right!" he whined. 

"How am I supposed to do it?"

"We fight until _I_ win."

"Why do you get to win?" Molly immediately snapped back.

"Because mine is the good guy and yours is the bad guy! The bad guy always loses." 

"That's silly. He can be the good guy too." She said, regarding the action figure in her hand with pity, clutching it in her hand more securely. 

"No he can't! That's not how it works! He's bad. He's always bad!"

"But he can learn to be good! See?" She found a small piece of loose gravel on the concrete nearby and scraped it along the figure's chest. 

"What did you do that for!?", the boy screeched as she marked the toy with a well defined scratch. 

"So he can look at it and remember what happens when he's bad and won't want to be bad anymore." then she kissed the spot she marked and held it to her chest, as if cradling a baby. "And now he knows what happens when you're good."

"Gross!" the boy sneered, snatching up the remainder of his figures, throwing them into his knapsack before stomping away. 

"Wait!" Molly called after him. "You're forgetting this one!"

"Keep it. I don't want it know that you've marked it up." the boy called back as he stormed off. 

Molly's heart sank, heavy with keenly felt sympathy for the piece of plastic in her hand. She kissed it again. "You can be good with me instead of bad with him." she whispered before tucking the figure into her jacket pocket and following the other children back to the school building as the bell rang. 

She kept the toy despite eventually acquiring other toys, even dolls, as Christmases and birthdays passed. She always held a special fondness for the dark figure with the scary eyes that she taught to be good. 

 

* * *

 

_This is just a meeting._ She reminded herself as she readied in the mirror. She was grateful and frantic in equal measure over the fact that she only had 45 minutes to get ready. She took her hair down and groaned at the large crimp from her ponytail but shrugged and gathered her hair in her fist. She pulled it back into a tight bun higher on her head, smoothed down closer to her scalp. It was a minimal deviation from her normal style but had the effect of making her look more severe. Molly took her time lining her eyes with kohl pencil, winging it slightly in the corners and then dabbed on a bit of her usual red lipstick. 

She didn't do anything elaborate as far as attire. Just a soft, sleeveless robin's egg blue a-line dress with a natural waistline. She shrugged a cream colored cardigan over it and then sighed. The outfit made her look like a frigid 1950's battleaxe.

_All I need is a rolling pin... hang on I might be on to something there._ She smirked then turned to check that her stocking seams were straight inside her mary janes. 

She was interrupted from her fidgeting when a text came through on her mobile.

_Hungry?_

SH

The corner of her mouth pricked up and she tapped out her reply.

_Famished_.

MH

Just seconds after her response she heard a mobile buzzing outside her bedroom door. She gasped slightly as her eyes shot toward the sound. Only then did she notice shadows, like those cast by shoes, in the gap beneath the door.

She crossed the room in two brisk strides, flinging her door open, unsurprised to find the World's only consulting detective standing before her, one hand clasped behind his back, while the other held his mobile, smirking at her reply. 

She scanned him from head to toe, he was in the same disheveled suit from earlier and she blushed slightly to find a dusty smudge, mostly faded but still in the distinct shape of a ladies' size 6 shoe print over his crotch. For the first time ever she was better put together than Sherlock Holmes, and she had to admit to herself, it was gratifying.

"Hello, Sherlock." She greeted, smile glittering through her eyes despite her purposefully detached expression. 

"Miss." He greeted, head slightly bowed, hand proffered palm up. He was showing her his readiness to serve.

"Eager aren't we, my sweet boy?" Molly's voice was gentle as she placed her palm in his. He lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, he dared to smile at her pleased expression, and dared further to bring her small hand to his lips for a soft kiss. She gasped quietly at this tender act, her lips tightening as she fought down the urge to beam at him. She wasn't altogether certain she'd succeeded when she felt the tension in her jaw relax somewhat. 

"I hope you won't be too displeased, Miss. But I've taken some liberties." He explained as he guided her through her own flat, bringing her toward the sliding glass door that led to her balcony.

The word "balcony" was a bit of exaggeration. Her estate agent had told her the flat had a "balcony", when in reality, it was little more than a stone-reinforced fire escape. She once had grand plans for flower boxes overflowing with fragrant blooms to go along with the fashionably restored wrought-iron patio set she'd inherited from her gran. However, all she'd managed was a pot of posies and a mass of overgrown mint. 

He slid the door open, handing her through so that he could proudly showcase the place settings he'd arranged on the small table. Before arriving at her flat he'd ordered takeaway from a nearby Thai restaurant, and had taken the time to plate it nicely while Molly dressed herself, unaware. He'd even made an attempt at a centerpiece, a small crystal bowl with votive candles of mismatched sizes, flickering in the dying orangey daylight of this unseasonably mild London evening. 

"Is that... an ashtray?" Molly asked, gesturing at the crystal vessel, sparkling with candlelight.

Sherlock gave a mischievous glance. "I've a confession, Miss." He said, pulling a chair out for her.

"Oh?" Molly inquired, but rather than seat herself, she pushed Sherlock to settle into the cushioned wrought iron chair. His eyes widened as she seated herself in his lap. "Do tell."

Sherlock swallowed, taken aback by her nearness so soon into their... Meeting? Appointment? His mind immediately rejected the word "date", more out of reflex than true denial. "I... " his voice croaked slightly but he cleared his throat and began again, "I acquired it through... less than scrupulous means."

Molly tutted in admonition. "Stolen, is it? From whom?"

Sherlock's grin widened with disgusting pride. "The Queen."

Molly gasped. "Of... England?"

"No Molly, of Sheba." he quipped reflexively. 

She slapped his face, just a noisy tap, nothing serious just yet. "It's a bit early to start in with the cheek, don't you think, precious?"

"Yes Miss." He agreed. "Forgive me." He reached across the small table for the bottle of chablis chilling there.

She put her hand over his arm and shook her head. "Not just now, I think. I'll make tea, or water, if you prefer..."

He released the neck of the bottle, smirking internally at the implication of abstaining from alcohol. If these negotiations went well, he would get to play. Or at the least she didn't want it off the table.

"Water is fine, let me-" He started but she halted him with a hand on his chest.

"I'll get the water. You get my laptop from my sitting room." She kissed him on the tip of the nose before ducking back into the interior of her flat with the wine under her arm.

He scrambled up following after her to get her laptop from her messenger bag. Sherlock returned a moment later with Molly's MacBook, setting it on the table and booting it up.  

 

* * *

 

The first several paragraphs were boilerplate drivel dressed up in kinky jargon. She read them aloud anyway, stroking along the side of his face. His eyes closed dreamily at her soft recitation. Occasionally she would feed him a piece of spring roll or prawn. Finally through it all she got to the real meat and bones of the contract.

"Hard limits?" She asked, stilling her hand on his face, looking into his eyes to alert him that he needed to pay attention.

He was silent a long moment, Molly gave him time to think it over. He swallowed. After a long pause his eyes flickered downward, "Others." he uttered, low and hushed, barely audible.

"Other what?" Molly asked as her brows lifted in question. He took longer to answer so Molly turned his face toward her, own meeting his puzzled gaze. He gave a pleading look, begging her with his eyes for her to understand without him having to say it. Molly wasn't having it. She stood her ground, staring back at him firmly in question. This was a contract negotiation that he had insisted on. The point of which, was to lay everything out in plain terms. She could not allow him to leave anything nebulous. 

"Other people." He croaked out, relenting. 

"Other people what, Sherlock? Other people watching?" She asked so plainly, as if the notion of being watched while being bound and fucked, by someone other than the binder-and-fucker, was as trivial as one's crisp flavor preference. Her bare neutrality in the face of such an idea mystified him, and nearly derailed his entire train of thought.

Sherlock blinked in surprise at her blunt speech and stammered a moment. "I hadn't actually considered...erm that..."

"Okay... we can revisit that later. By 'other people' did you mean you want exclusivity?" Molly asked, again with the cool neutrality. 

Sherlock sighed, relieved. "Yes."

"Of course." Molly waved nonchalantly. "I only ever play with one sub at a time unless the sub wishes for more, and only for the occasional tryst. Never long term. Requires too much of my energy and attention to master more than one." She leaned forward in his lap to tap the exclusivity addendum into the contract. He was agog at how casually she was taking his request. "Besides... You are _such_ a handful." She smirked, glancing at him in her periphery. She finished typing and looked over the paragraph then looked for his approval and he nodded. Molly smiled and nodded, "Now that's sorted, any other hard limits?"

It was Sherlock's turn to shock Molly, he gripped her hips tightly and gazed at her with a stormy expression. "No." He answered unreservedly. 

Molly's breath snagged in her throat at that one word and it's immense implication. He was essentially writing her a blank check for his body the idea was as frightening as it was thrilling. She wrestled against the frisson zinging through her, humming beneath her skin as her mind filled to the brim with filthy ideas. Sherlock huddled, beaten and shaking, kissing her feet gratefully. Sherlock chained to his chair blindfolded in her little dungeon, desperately pulling against his binds to reach her, raw tear tracks stinging down his cheeks. She shook the thoughts away and steeled herself. "I'll give you time to think, but the next time you are here you are to give me a list with no less than three hard limits."

Sherlock nodded once, absently. She was unsure if he was disappointed or relieved. She cared too much about this, about him, to hold him to such a commitment. She thought momentarily on Tom and how too much, too fast had been such a disaster with them. She couldn't allow herself too much enthusiasm.

"Good boy." She smiled trying to shift the mood back to playful. She saw the hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the faraway look in his eyes. "Next is safe word. Do you have a preference?" 

"Not necessary." He said as surely as he'd insisted on no hard limits moments before. Molly felt heat lapping at the sides of her face, right as a breeze kicked up, causing her to shiver at the contrast. "I trust you." He added. 

Molly exhaled in a gust and pulled him toward her, tugging her fingers through his hair roughly, scraping her nails along his scalp with a harshness that made Sherlock groan in appreciation. "Oh Sherlock. That's such a foolish thing to say. You've no idea what I'd do to you, given half a chance." 

"You deserve to, Miss. You're so good. Always trying to help me be better. You've never given up on me not even when-"

Molly cut him off with a searing kiss. She was afraid to hear what came next. Afraid he would start talking about his relapse and Janine. Afraid he would admit to wanting her out of some misguided need to atone for past sins. Offering up his pound of flesh, as it were, and she couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear the idea that all of this was somehow an elaborate pity fuck and would all be over as soon as he felt he'd done enough to be forgiven. The harder he let her go on him, the sooner he could be free of his obligation. She ended the kiss with a bite, pulling his lip away slightly before releasing him. 

"You will choose a safeword or I will choose one for you, and you won't like it. Don't be mistaken, precious boy, I _will_ make you say it." Her voice was full of dark promise. So fathomless, even she could not see to the bottom of the inky black depravity she could unleash on him. 

Sherlock shuddered. "You choose, Miss. I will use any word you wish."

Molly grinned devilishly. She leaned to speak against his lips, "Your word is 'Mercy'. Say it." She ordered. 

Sherlock's once-heavy eyelids flew wide. In the space of an instant he saw the woman. Wearing his dressing gown, in his sitting room when she'd teased him into revealing the details of Bond-Air. _I'd have you on this table until you begged for mercy twice._

"What's your word, sweet boy?" Her voice cut through his memory.

He lifted his eyes toward her and smiled. "Mercy."

Molly's grip in his hair tightened as she braced her forehead against his. Her breathing was staggered with excitement. "Again."

"Mercy." He repeated, louder and surer than before.

_I've never begged for mercy in my life._

_Twice._

 

* * *

 

The laptop and the food were abandoned as Molly became entirely intent on devouring Sherlock whole. They met in a series of frantic, hungry kisses that melded into a single drawn out joining of lips, tongues and teeth. His focus was on his hands, where they cupped the curve of her hips. If he only needed to add the right amount of pressure and her warm mound would be pressed against his burgeoning erection. He weighed the pros and cons.

_Con: She may become angry and punish you._

_Pro: She may become angry and punish you_.

He'd never considered himself a glutton for punishment. Throughout his life, he'd been bullied and mocked. He'd been beaten, tortured, shot, assaulted (on occasions too numerous to count). There was just something about him people loved to hate. It was the faces he made, the tone of his voice, his habit of deducing everyone around him without filter. Except it wasn't a habit really, it was more like a reflex or tic, a hiccough in his brain like a cartoon devil on his shoulder. Whispering information like a maddening buzz that would not let up until he gave voice to it. He'd never enjoyed those beatings. And yet...

He pushed down on her hips while lifting his own, bringing their centers into alignment. She whimpered into his mouth, pushing back against him. A thrill burst through him at the thought that she did not immediately slap him across the face for his presumptuousness. The adrenaline spike at the moment of narrow victory. The mere notion that she could be so overcome with desire for him that she could abandon her domination, for even these brief seconds, was almost too much. He felt it, he was toeing the edge already.

As if she sensed it, she stilled her body with a growl, tightening her fist in his hair. His scalp prickled with skittering pinpricks of pain, his head went back to relieve the pressure some but she only clutched tighter forcing a gasp out of him. His position had his neck bared fully to her. She licked a trail over his jaw, kissing and sucking around the tender marks she'd left there before. The softness of her lips sending phantoms of pain through his bruised skin, he shivered at the sensation. 

She pressed a hand down on his shoulder and she readjusted her position on his lap to straddle him fully. She had him pinned beneath her, his head reared back, her grip in his scalp loosened enough for the blood to return to his skin and make him feel as if he was on fire. He felt tiny beads of perspiration rise to his temples as she rose over him and brought herself down against him. His hands moved over her bum, encouraging but not asserting any control. 

She guided his head with the hand in his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her jaw set in determination, eyes dark as she drove herself against him ruthlessly fast. Oh no, this was not good. If she kept this up this would be over very soon. He needed to tell her, let her know how close to the point of no return he was. 

"Miss. I-ah!" 

She took the flesh of his neck between her teeth, working it roughly while tugging against his scalp once more. 

"Please! Oh, Molly...I'm about to-" He choked, trembling. Gulping for air, he fisted the material of her skirt in his sweaty palms and grit his teeth against the painful throb in his bollocks. He'd never been that close to orgasm without falling over, it was frightening and frustrating and oh so very delicious. He was still achingly hard but he was soaring on the high of neurochemicals flooding his brain. 

She did not let him languish. She rose from his lap, and tugged at his collar. "On your feet, champ." Her voice was smug, patronizing. He groaned, the heavy weight of his cock became impossible to ignore as he moved to stand. Guiding by the collar of his shirt, she led him to the center of the balcony and rose on her toes to place a tiny kiss on the end of his nose before turning back toward the table, or more specifically, the laptop. She clicked a few times before closing the screen and taking it under her arm. She walked toward the glass door.

"Strip." She ordered casually, as if it were an afterthought. Or maybe it was mild irritation, her expression and tone withering as if he were a slow child that had yet to reach the foregone conclusion. "Eyes down when I return."

Why wasn't he naked yet? He remembered himself and his hands went to the fastening on his trousers. Unconcerned that he was outside on a balcony and for all intents and purposes, this was delving into the exhibitionist sphere of naughty sex. Hadn't they put a pin it that one for later? At this particular moment he was certainly in no haste to take it off the table. _'Yes'_ , he thought as he saw Molly's shadow cross the flat. _'This is an avenue worth exploring.'_

He dropped his clothes in a careless heap near his feet, dropping his eyes to his bare feet just in time to hear the door slide open and shut once again, her feet shuffled as she neared him. Moving to stand close enough for him to feel her body heat, She held a sheet of paper in her hand. 

"What does this mean, precious?" Molly waved the contract in his face. 

"That I'm yours, miss." He answered, eyes lowered per her instructions, taking in the Mary Janes on her dainty feet. He hadn't peeked up but he was picturing her in her apron.

"Mmm that's right, my clever boy." She circled him like a predator tracing her hands over his bare chest. Her palms followed a soothing trail up his sternum, separating to smooth over each of his arms.  Long and pale but lithe and sturdy, she admired the strength hidden beneath his skin, pressing into the muscles of his upper arms. "Whose arms are these?"

"Yours, Miss." he answered. She rewarded his correct answer by placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. Taking his hands in hers she followed the lines of his palms with her lips.

"Whose hands are these?" she spoke into his left hand.

"Yours, Miss." his voice a hoarse gasp as she licked up the length of his index finger before sucking it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip of his finger in a gesture entirely too reminiscent of their earlier encounter in her office. Electricity ran down his spine lurching in his pelvis. His cock twitched, pleading for her attention. 

Molly took notice, letting his finger drop from her mouth. He whined softly, the open air somehow feeling far colder without the warmth of her mouth on even that small amount of skin. His head still bowed, he hardly had time to take notice that she'd closed the gap between their bodies and fisted his cock firmly in her deceptively strong hand. 

He inhaled, swallowing down a pleasured noise. Sherlock slammed his eyes shut, brows knitting together as the world disappeared around him. There was just the two of them breathing the same crisp outdoor air, the noise of the city below and the sensation of her hand's rough tugs on his member.

She murmured something to him but he was lost in the feeling of her upward strokes, pulling his foreskin over the head of his throbbing erection and back down again.  She halted her movements, squeezing almost painfully on the root of him. He bit into the meat of his cheek when he felt her round blunt nails press lightly into his frenulum. Carefully not pressing in, just holding him. Reminding him that he was there for her pleasure, not she for his.

"Open your eyes Sherlock." She ordered. Her voice was low and dangerous. "Look at me."

He raised his head and reluctantly peeled his eyes open, anxious that any slight movement could cause those blunt nails to bury deeper into his vulnerable flesh.

There she was, eyes steely and cold, still gripping him in warning.  "I said... whose cock is this?" 

Desperation shone through his eyes. He wanted to beg her to do something, anything, stroke him off, claw his skin, walk away. The suspense ate at him but he daren't make the slightest movement, not even as much as blink. "Yours. It's yours, Miss." 

"Oh good boy." She whispered into his ear as she drew herself against his body and pumped her hand around him in earnest. "Such a good boy." She praised. "And what a lovely cock it is too. Warm, heavy... thick. It looks so pretty in my hand, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

She took half a step away, giving enough space between them to allow him to observe while she demonstrated, twisting her fist around him with a flourish. He swallowed and nodded his agreement.

"Good." She praised, letting go of him and drew away completely. "Very good, darling. Now..." With her first finger she drew a line starting at his ear,  down his jaw and ending at his chin. She raised his chin to look at her.

She was wearing her apron and a smile, she required no further adornment as far as he was concerned. He drank her in.

"On your back." She ordered sweetly, pressing her fingertips into his chest for emphasis. 

He jumped to comply, her directive more easily carried out thanks to a sun-warmed jute rug decorating her balcony. He slid first to his knees, then down to his bottom and rolling backward to lie prone as instructed. He spared a peek down the planes of his own nude form, a spike of self-consciousness burning through him at the sight of his own cock jutting out from the patch of curls, unflaggingly alert and twitching in the open air. 

"Arms above your head." She snapped. 

He stretched his arms over his head, lengthening his body against the rug. As soon as he was settled in the required position she knelt beside his head. Sighing contentedly she dipped one hand into his curls and the other roamed his body lasciviously. "Mmm My beautiful boy. All mine.", she whispered, her caresses turned into light scratches over his chest and stomach. "Mine to pleasure. Mine to torture. Oh yes..." She ran her nails over his taut nipples and he hissed in response. "But I promise to take care of you, darling boy. You are always safe with me. Use your word and I will swaddle you up and kiss you where it hurts, every time, precious. I do so love it when you are clingy and tender like a baby, hungry for my kindness. Don't you?"

"Yeeesss, Miss." Sherlock sighed as her hand finally found his member once again, arching his back up the tiniest bit to increase the pressure of her soft palm on his rigid flesh. 

"But you know you are in trouble." He groaned as her hand stilled. 

"Yes Miss." He acknowledged with more than a little disappointment tinting his voice. 

She tutted softly. "If you are a good lad and take your punishment you will get all the cuddles and comforts you please. But if you are naughty... Oh darling... Miss Molly will become very, very cross. You don't want to make Miss Molly cross do you?" She asked in her soft voice thick and sweet as nectar, her lower lip jutting out in a slight pout as she spoke in such an alarmingly endearing fashion. 

_Yes_. Was his first thought. But thought better of it. "No Miss. I'll be your good boy."

"Oh..." Molly smiled a sweet little lopsided smile and leaned forward to kiss him high on his cheek near his orbital bone, she'd refreshed her lipstick while inside and he knew it had left a defined red lip print. Branding him like a prized bull: _If Found, Please Return to Molly Hooper..._

"I know you will." She said in an insolently self-assured tone. His cutting observation died in his throat as she raised a leg over his chest to mount him.

His arms twitched to hold her, to take her by the hips, the bum, but she'd ordered him to keep his hands above his head. He gritted his back teeth until they creaked and clenched his fists in frustration. 

"That's right darling." She said skimming her hand down the length of her torso, teasingly before reaching into the pocket of her apron. The packet of cigarettes she had taken from him (no, he'd really given them to her.) appearing in her palm as her hand rose from inside. She opened the top and peeked inside. "Let's see... one, two, three missing from the pack." She looked down at him and tutted again. "Bring your knees up." She ordered.

He bent his knees, planting his feet firmly on the ground. She smiled lazily sliding down his body until she was perched atop his hips, his cock fitting snugly against the cleft of her arse.

His attempt to arch his back to gain some small amount of friction was thwarted when she leaned against his bent knees, bringing one leg to drape down his body and over his shoulder. Her foot rested near his right ear while the other leg was bent at the knee, the toes of her Mary Janes tucked against his ribs. 

She spread herself to him wantonly, lounging across his body as if he were a piece of furniture. The skirt of her apron pooled at the top of her thighs, putting her lovely pink cunt on display. He could see as well as feel the wetness drizzling from her center. She wanted him, she was not attempting to play coy on that point.

While he was distracted by her pussy she drew a cigarette from the pack, bringing it to her lips. The flick of the lighter is what caught his attention. She arched her back and sighed contentedly, blowing smoke into his face. His mouth fell open, tasting whisps of her smoke on his tongue. 

It was then the deviousness of her intentions dawned on him. She meant to tantalize him with his own vice. Tease him only to withhold it and delight as he squirms. If he were a man of a more poetic disposition he might have waxed metaphorically about the cigarette and the woman smoking it. How very alike they both were, badly wanted and just outside his grasp.

Although unlike everything else he'd ever desired as much as this, Molly was his most wholesome vice, in spite of her more unseemly intentions. She was the only thing he craved that hadn't already nearly killed him or all but promised to do so in the future.

_You are always safe with me._

In a single sentence, Molly had managed to summarize their entire relationship. Clever minx, that she is. She had always been a safe harbor for him. Ironic that this safe harbor also delighted in his pain, and in the giving of pain. Ironic that he would come to thirst for her so. 

 His musing was cut short as Molly raised the ashen stacked tip. Her eyes went dark with intent and the corner of her mouth twitched with tension. She flicked the ashes down his stomach and across his chest. Tiny embers scattered apart over his body, stinging briefly but never actually burning him. The ashes landing in the line of his clavicle. 

He squirmed under her, and it seemed just as he'd recovered from the shock of the first she was blowing smoke and flicking ash on him again. 

She was careful not to let large amounts of the cherry ember fall onto him, but it was just enough to make him antsy and unable to get completely comfortable. 

"What is it, darling?" She asked flicking ash on him again, this time he felt a tiny ember sting against his throat. He swallowed and flinched every time. "Is my smoking annoying you?" She blew another puff in his face.

"It's rude and disgusting." She noted holding up the cigarette as if examining it before drawing it back to her lips for another gusting puff. "Makes food taste off, diminishes olfactory senses, takes years off your life." Another flick from the cigarette, this time he was not anticipating it, he was too distracted by the slow circling of her hips, rubbing her bottom intimately against him. The feel of her, sopping wet, sliding over his skin and the sight of the shadowed recess where their bodies were pressed together was proving far too fascinating at the moment.

"It can also cause erectile dysfunction you know." She sighed, leaning further against his knees, his cock trapped between her cleft and his closed legs. _God if she would just move a little..._ "Then what would I do with you, sweet boy? It would break Miss Molly's heart if it took a pill to get a rise out of you." She slid her bottom against his length, slowly, purposefully. His toes curled and he groaned in pained pleasure, something that sounded like words but were too garbled to intuit clearly. 

"What was that, darling?" She sat up, slightly moving away from his erection and making him growl in frustration. 

"When do you plan on doing something about the one I currently have?!" He nearly shouted then shut his mouth, eyes wide with surprise at his own outburst, then clamped his lips shut doing his best to appear apologetic. 

"Oh my. So impatient." She flicked the last bit of ash from the cigarette against his chest before stubbing it out somewhere on the rug. She reached into her pocket and presented a second cigarette. She cocked her head to the side flirtatiously as she lit the end. "Are you hungry for me, sweetheart?" She asked, smoky tendrils stretching from her lips as she spoke. 

Couldn't she tell? He felt as if he would go mad if he didn't have her. In the past, he'd often scoffed at other men's claims to 'need' sex as nothing more than the foolish ravings of the weak-willed. Before sex had been a passing fancy, a casual indulgence to be taken at his leisure, usually just to pass the time when he got too high for brain work. He wanted sex the same way most people wanted a mint on their pillow. You don't really expect it, but since it's there you'll go ahead and take it. He didn't care to examine what it said about him that he compared human beings to hotel amenities. 

But with Molly, it was more. Every part of him screamed for her, he could feel his body begging for her on the cellular level. It was dangerous. Absolutely, heart-stoppingly deadly, and he loved it. "Famished." He answered in a harsh whisper echoing her text from before. 

"Then I shall give you something to eat." She slid her way up his body until she was hovering over his head. She reached for his arms and placed his palms against the tops of her thighs. He swallowed in anticipation of what would come next. His eyes were wide and his heart thrummed. Her expression was somewhat apprehensive, as if she were unsure of how he would receive this. It occurred to him that his wide-eyed slack-jawed expression could communicate in the negative just as easily as in the positive. So in a silent encouragement he slid his hands up her legs to grasp around her waist and licked his lips.

Molly gusted out a harsh sigh. "Since your mouth will be otherwise occupied, darling, you may tap my leg if you need to stop." He only gripped her hips tighter in response. Although her protection was ultimately her draw, he really couldn't handle any more safety speeches. Not when it was all he could do to keep from pulling her down over him and lashing his tongue against her until she shattered. She was so close, her smell was all around him and it made his mouth water with anticipation. She raised the skirt of her apron over her hips, tucking the ends into the tie at the waist so it was out of the way. It was like a curtain rising at the theatre, the scene was being set. And what a lovely scene it was. Soft, pink folds, peeking out of lush lips, a neatly trimmed triangle of hair, lighter than he'd deduced, dusting over her mound. 

She reached a hand behind her, two fingers perched up to hold the cigarette, and anchored the other in his hair, steadying herself as she lowered her center to his face. From the angling of his head and the lowering of her body they met somewhere in the middle, his hot tongue sliding lazily up her slit, then down again, searing her with liquid hot pleasure. She jerked a bit in surprise at his eager attentions, but he dug his fingertips into her skin, unwilling to let her push him away. She lowered her full weight on him in retaliation, gripping his hair tighter in her hand. The forcefulness of her movement caused the ash of the cigarette to fall onto his sternum, but he could not move with her weight pinned above him. 

So he did the only thing he could do, probe her channel with his tongue while circling her clit with his nose, all the while staring up at her with guileful eyes.

She shuddered against him. "Oh! Oh good boy!" Molly relaxed against him, rotating her hips in a counter-circle while he allowed his tongue to gently ease out of her, only to plunge it in again. He could feel Molly tense as they built a speed, uncaring that she was smothering him. She was all-encompassing, inescapable. He'd once told John that breathing was boring, he stood by that statement. Especially now when it seemed, at best, a secondary concern next to eating his fill of her. He could feel the veins pulsing in his temples and beads of sweat prick from his hairline, but before it had occurred to him he should probably tap for air, she lifted off of him. As soon as they separated he pulled in a quick few lungfuls, willing himself to recover fast so he could dive in again. 

"Easy, precious. Take your time." she instructed, to his mild annoyance.

Perhaps he was a bit overeager, but Christ, this had been years in the making and he'd felt as if his time had already been thoroughly taken. He responded with his characteristic brattiness, sucking his middle finger into his mouth and reaching around to circle her anus. "Sherlock!" She gasped out in a ragged whisper, tugging at his hair and taking another drag from the cigarette before lowering herself down to rut against his face. He wriggled his fingertip into the tight opening, and she shivered deliciously as his finger breached her to the first knuckle. A bit of payback for before, making him come so intensely he thought he could fall into a coma afterward. He followed as her fist in his scalp and her slide over his mouth guided him. One hand held her fast by the hip and the middle finger of his other hand fucked her on her downstroke. 

Her hands tensed and the cigarette fell from between her fingers and rolled across his ribs, landing somewhere between the rug and his body, smothering it out. But not before leaving a burning hot trail across his skin. He couldn't devote any more mental energy to the sensation. His single-minded devotion was to unravel the woman above him. A slight tilt of his head had his mouth positioned under her clit, a slight twist of his wrist had his ring and pinky finger poised at her entrance, filling her as he sucked unyielding at the pearl of her clitoris. He grasped at her, banding his arm around her entire waist when he feels her try to move away. 

"Jesus... Sherlock... Oh! I'm going to- Shit! I'm coming!" She erupts, crying out in a hoarse shout and he feels the warm splash of her ejaculate rush over his face and down onto his neck. The hand that he'd used to tease her was now cupping her bottom, supporting her upright while he unwound his arm from her waist to rub at her hard bud, coaxing a few more spurts from her. He's soaked in her earthy scent, absolutely drowned in her, licking the remnants from his lips and the corners of his mouth. 

She rises up on shaking haunches to dismount, only to fall forward and catch herself on her hands. Sherlock sits up, draping his body over hers as she gasps to recover.

"Alright?" He asked in her ear and she only nodded, still catching her breath. He took one of her earlobes between his teeth, nipping it gently. Content to occupy himself with the creamy skin of her throat as she came back down to Earth. Eventually he felt her shift under him and a hand rose to gently comb through his tangled, soaking curls that were dripping her own fluids against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... not in your face like that.", She petted him sweetly, her voice serene but a bit despondent, as if she worried she'd done him some injury.

He chuckled against her hair, widening his stance so she could feel his heavy cock against her back. "You may not have meant to, but I did."

Molly arched her back at the feel of his blood hot member's weight over her, his bollocks pressed against her ass. "Oh my wicked boy." Molly moaned. "What am I going to do with you?"

At that, Sherlock snaked both arms over her body, one hand kneaded at her breasts, his other ventured south to pet her curls.

"God, Molly. Let's Fuck." He growled positioning himself at her entrance. She felt so inviting; warm, wet velvety heat slipping over his length as he dragged his cock along her folds. "Don't you want to Fuck, Molly?" 

 

* * *

 

 

_God yes!_ She thought before her blood froze with the realization of a what they were doing.

No more play names. No more game. Just Sherlock and Molly and the intimacy of their bare skin. She felt dizzy, high on his closeness and damn if she wasn't willing to choke the life out of that voice in her brain that screamed at her to see reason. 

She felt him fumble with the apron ties at her neck and waist and a breeze as it fell away from her.

"Molly?" He asked, kissing the middle of her back.

"Yes." She responded.

"Yes?" He stilled all his movement, waiting to hear her respond in the definite, whichever way.

"Yes, Sherlock." She said lowering her weight onto her forearms, widening her legs and looking back at him with warm lust-heavy eyes. "Fuck me."

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Samson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth? Too much truth, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "Samson" by Regina Spektor, which is one of the sherlolliest songs ever written if you want my opinion. Definitely gives me sobby feels when I listen to it and think about those post-reichenbach fall years and how hard they had to be for Molly. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and encouragement while I got through some serious writer's block and depressive cycles. NGL chasing other plot bunnies and churning out fan art has eaten up some of my updating time as well.
> 
> All love to the wonderful OhAine, who catches tense problems like pokemon. Thank you, kitten! 
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't already follow me on tumblr, please do. I'm kind of a heinous bitch but I have some mostly redeeming qualities, probably. www.tumblr.com/o0katiekins0o

He was all around her, over her, threateningly close to being _inside_ of her. It was maddening. She adored being taken this way, ransacked. She didn't want to analyze what it meant in context to the game they were playing. She didn't want to sift through the man's every word or action in order to suss out some kind of meaning or machination behind it all. She'd done all that too many times before and never managed a working theory anyway, so why analyze it? Good, bad, or indifferent she would deal with any repercussions as they came. 

So far, that strategy had proven sound, now he was behind her, breath rumbling against her neck with every gliding pass of his shaft between her folds. She didn't have to torture him, he was doing it for her, trembling with every push of his hips. Shifting beneath him, arching her back, Molly rolled her own hips against him, offering a counterbalance to his motions that were swiftly breaking down into desperation.

"Molly, I'm going to enter you." He announced as if it were almost a surprise to himself that this was happening. Even after all the build up and his persistence he seemed not to believe it would actually occur until this moment.

She smiled a mad wide smile, pressing her face into the pillow of her crossed arms to hide it. "Yes Sherlock, take it. Take whatever you want. Anything. Always."

In her vulnerability she reminded him of her unspoken promise, whatever he needed, she would always be there to provide it. All he had to do was ask, and it was his. It felt like the right thing to say, it had been the right thing to say the other times he came to her, needy and begging. 

But to her surprise, and utter soul-crushing disappointment, she felt his grip loosen on her hips. The sensation of his sweat-sticky fingers drawing away from their indents in her skin, a prelude to his body lifting away. His cock disappeared from between her thighs and she nearly shivered with the loss of his weight, his heat. 

She rose from her crouched position on the rug, not daring to look at Sherlock, not yet ready to see the look of semidetached analysis on his face as he went over the data points of this encounter as if it were some kind of factual aberration.

As if it were one of his cases. God, all this time she hadn't taken the time to seriously consider the possibility that perhaps all of this was for a case.

The way it happened so quickly and snowballed from there. For all she knew, he could be chasing after some criminal with similar kinks and thought getting into the mind of the perpetrator would be aided by getting into the knickers of someone who shared their desires. 

A tremor pulsed through her, a visceral reflex pinging around inside her ribs, she fought down a reflexive heave as a frustrated sob nearly escaped her throat. Instead, she chose to stoke the flames of her anger. It would not do to let the man see her cry, if anyone should be weeping it should be him. It _would_ be him.

She knew what to say when he needed her and she knew what to say now when she needed him to be gone; so far away from every part of her life, that nothing could ever even remind her of him. Molly was prepared to unleash her fury on every single one of his individual inadequacies that totaled into the sum of the miserable human failure she now knew him to be. 

Turning toward him, Molly reached back into her mind for her list of every hurtful thing she'd ever wanted to say to Sherlock. Every completely justified judgement, every deeply personal insult she'd ever thought of minutes after Sherlock had cut her to the quick and whirled off. She wanted to open up that wounded part of her heart and unleash the furious festering mess that dwelt there back on it's creator.

Oh God did she want to. She wanted to more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, including the man who had just rejected her, and she would. Oh yes she would.

However, what Molly encountered when she had finally gained the strength to look upon him once more, was her undoing. Her greatest weakness, the fly in the ointment, the virus in the data. The look that instantly made her regret each and every unkind thought she'd ever had of him. The look he gives when only she can see how sad he truly was. 

Sherlock huddled into himself, crouched against the glass door to her flat. Panting, naked pink and marked all over, the sight would have been mouthwatering if it hadn't been for his entirely crushed expression. His eyes were red-rimmed, lips parted as panting, shaky breaths escaped them, his cock half soft between his trembling legs. Why did he always do this? Why, when she thought she was ready to try and give as good as she'd gotten, must he remind her how easily wounded he is? Especially now.

"Sherlock, What-" She began to form a question, but so many queued up in her mind at once, fighting to be spoken first. She sputtered and paused. She could not make heads or tails of anything that was happening right now, or in fact, had been happening since that initial encounter at Baker Street. She swallowed and settled on a single question. "Why?"

Her lip trembled as she asked but she gained control of it by taking the unruly flesh between her teeth. Her gaze, however, did not falter.  

"I-I thought you understood, I thought you knew what this was. I was sure." He shook his head, his lower lids began to shine with tears, he sniffled slightly, the end of his nose going as red as his eyes. 

Her brows pushed together, her lips drawn down into a deep frown. "How could I know? I don't know what we're doing here, Sherlock. I don't know what you want from me. Please, for once in your godforsaken life, open your mouth and just fucking tell me what you want from me!" She plead, hands balled at her sides to keep her from acting on the urge to cover herself. No, she couldn't shrink away now. 

Molly watched him swallow, eyes sunken and skin pallid, as if finally facing down a secret terror. He met her cold stare with all the bravery he could muster, "Everything. Everything you would let me have and even more, much more."

Molly shook her head in shock and disbelief.

"Shut up." No she couldn't (wouldn't) believe him, even if she was unable to tell what benefit he could possibly gain from lying, she wouldn't allow herself to think otherwise.

He winced at that, sinking further into himself. "It's true." He admitted, his voice a weak, rasping mea culpa.

"Molly, please believe me." He added, reaching out with the speed of a viper, to catch her wrist as she attempted to open the door behind him. He held her by the shoulders, but only at arm's length, not pulling her into him. "Damn it! Listen, would you just listen?" 

"I am listening, Sherlock. I feel as if all I ever do is listen to you." She sighed. "I listen and try so hard to understand you. I observe, I analyze, over-analyze. And you've proven me the fool for it each time."

With that confession she finally broke down and hunched over, covering herself with her hands, desperate for some kind of shield against his terrifyingly beautiful eyes, shining with sincerity and threatening to tell her everything she ever wanted to hear.

"Tell me what you want from me." She ordered, her voice small, but forceful. She enunciated each word carefully, her tone slow and deep, as if annoyed with a defiant child. 

He started a bit at the strength of her retort, but eased immediately, the comfort of domination, even just this slight amount, was tethering him. "I can't. Don't you see? That will only spoil it." He pulled her into his chest and she did not fight him, instead, she anxiously allowed him to mold her against him, his hand cupping the side of her head, his cheek pressing against her forehead.

Although he was holding her, to Molly, it felt more like she was his anchor. He clutched her like a penitent clutches a rosary, shaking with sincere conviction.

"I've taken so much from you." Sherlock's voice was a whisper she felt fluttering over her temple. "I take and take and still, I want more. I am... _afraid_ of how much more I want. I look into this chasm inside and search for a bottom that I fear does not exist, Molly. Do you understand?"

Breath snagged in her chest where a thousand stomping boots marched double time against her ribs. Just moments ago she was having very similar thoughts about him."I think I'm starting to."

A small puff of relief escaped his mouth, his grip on her loosening into a more tender hug. "I've done cruel, thoughtless things in the pursuit of my work. You've witnessed, and yes, been the target of some of them. But you see, in my head I can justify nearly any act pursuant to my goals. In the moment, at least." 

"In the moment?" Molly asked, breaking away from him, only far enough to look him in the eyes. Despite how desperately she wished to believe him without question, she felt unable to resist the need to search his eyes for any trace of deceit. She knelt beside him, to meet his eye line. 

Seeming to understand, Sherlock returned her eye contact, freely offering himself up to her examination. "In the quiet hours, when the buzz of closing the case begins to wane, I reflect on my behaviour. Not just recent, but all of it... my life, my choices and I realize fully what a complete and utter louse I am."

"You're not a louse." Her little voice proclaimed insistently as one diminutive hand reached up to stroke the back of her fingers across his cheek. 

In response, he took her by the wrist, so tiny it disappeared in his fist, guiding her hand down over his lips where he placed venerate kisses across each of her bony knuckles.

"I am. I am." He said between each brush of his mouth, opening her palm with his hands and pressing it to his cheek, eyes closing in sweet contentment. "I've always known it to be true, but lately that fact has become increasingly... difficult... to live with." 

She was overwhelmed. The usually imposing dark cloud of a man seemed so sweet, so darling there with his face between her palms when she brought the other hand up to caress his unattended side.

"It's a problem I'm finding to be a severe impediment to my current goal, Molly. Yes, miraculously, you have proven yourself willing to overlook a significant number of my failings. Yet, upon considering my history, it becomes clear that I cannot be trusted when I am taking what I want for myself. I cannot be trusted not to... trespass beyond what is allowable, yet knowing that does not stop the wanting."

Molly licked her lips, mesmerized by the way his eyelashes briefly fluttered shut and his fingertips dug into her more firmly as he uttered the word _'wanting'_.

"It's a problem whose solution I've contemplated a long while without getting anywhere. Until that first... _encounter_ , when you were kind enough to remind me that acquiring data is only half the work." He inhaled, eyes slipping shut once again. "Since that time, I'd formed a theory that I've been attempting to prove. I admit, it's not entirely scientific. There is no control group, no objectivity, and a certain bias toward a specific outcome, however the results have been extremely promising." 

"Tell me." She prompted, one hand sliding to the back of his neck to weave through the curls at his nape. 

He cleared his throat, her nearness affecting him once more, his waning cock had begun to stir between them. "If I'm to... have you, it can only be when you're _giving_ to me. Telling me what to give to you. I-I cannot take from you Molly. Not like this. It's the only way I can be sure I'm not overstepping, because I will, Molly. I will."

She couldn't tell if he meant that as a confession or a promise. Either way it sent arousal slithering down her belly and braiding low in her pelvis.

"You have to be in control, you're the only one of us with a modicum of common sense and... I trust you... to give me what I need." He added, closing his eyes and groaning when she responded by tightening her fingers' constraint in his soft curls. Their physical separation had begun to affect them both, as a breeze suddenly tumbled through, the sensation of cool air on wet flesh, causing them to shiver and grasp one another closer. 

She laughed softly against his throat, her fingers in his hair loosening to comb through the damp locks. She tsked, letting him feel her lips pouting against his neck. "What a negligent mistress I've been letting my beautiful boy catch a chill. Come along, darling..."

She rose to her feet, planting a kiss on the end of his nose on the way up, and clapping the dust from her palms. When he moved to do the same he felt a pressure on his left shoulder. Looking up to a rather spectacular view of Molly's spread legs as she had planted one dainty foot upon him. She applied enough pressure to push him back down on all fours smiling darkly. 

"I like you like this." She admitted, reveling in the sight of the man gasping and on his knees. Oh the mighty, don't they just fall so mightily?

The dear actually blushed, lowering his eyes before gathering himself and setting his gaze directly upon hers once more before saying the most unbelievable thing.

" _I_ like me like this." His eyes were closed when he spoke the words, but his mouth held a serene smile. 

His words were filled with warmth and sincerity so easily offered, as if he didn't realise what a remarkable thing it was to have said.

It was one thing for him to be happy with her. She worked at it-had always worked at taking care of him and, yes dammit, loving him. It was another thing entirely for him to admit that, in her, he found happiness with himself.

He didn't seem to realize the profundity of his statement. Or, if he did, he didn't care that he was speaking with unprecedented candor. Molly wondered what else she could get him to say, biting her lip at the notion. 

"Follow me inside." She ordered before commanding, "Just like this." She pressed down on him for emphasis, making it clear she wanted him to remain on his hands and knees before turning to enter the flat. She didn't look back but she did pause to listen for the thuds of his palms and knees against the floor.

Molly took a winding trail toward the bedrooms, slowly taking her hair down from the confinement of her tight bun, sighing demonstratively while she traced her fingers through her tresses where they fell against her bare shoulders.

She walked into the natural sway of her hips as she moved through the corridor that led to her to the juncture where the two rooms were. Watching him catch up to her- his bum in the air, back covered in scratches, hair a wild tangled mess- goodness he was just such a dear thing, she could hardly bear it.

"Here you are, lovely boy, go on and get cozy." She opened the door to her own bedroom after what seemed like a moment of uncertainty with an assured smile. She'd made her decision, whatever she had with Sherlock, no matter how poorly advised, she was all-in.

"I think you deserve a cuddle, don't you?"   

 

* * *

 

 

He quirked a brow at the recommendation to 'cuddle' but did not argue. He simply nodded and climbed onto the center of the bed, leaning back against the pillows. 

She moved to join him, standing at her bedside, leaning toward him with her arms open. He relaxed, preparing to be pulled into an embrace, but instead he felt her fussily fluffing the pillows behind him, propping him upright, and pulling a quilt from the end of her bed over him. She wrapped it over his arms, rubbing them up and down, warming them. 

Tentatively, he eased into the nest of pillows behind him and was rewarded with the feeling of a cool, bare leg sliding over the tops of his thighs, followed quickly by it's fellow as Molly settled atop him, her warm center a stark contrast from the rest of her chilled skin, bumpy with horripilation. As if acting on instinct, his large palms found their way up her arms, soothing away the gooseflesh with his own heat and giving her an involuntary jolting shiver. 

Sherlock released a thin gasp and chuckle as the rapid temperature shift had caused her to arch reflexively against him. Giving him a pointed look, Molly braced her hands on his chest, her hands still cold from being out of doors. Palms slid upwards to more securely fasten the quilt about her shoulders, moving higher still to cup her face, her jaw, trace her lips with his thumb. 

It was his turn to shiver when her frosty palms passed over his now-straining nipples, moving against him when his shuddering caused his hips to buck upward. Groaning audibly, he looked up at her with helpless eyes, grasp returning to her upper arms . His hands were large enough that they fully encircled the tops of her arms. It occurred to him in that moment that if he just exerted enough pressure he could pull her to him- press against her, lock his hands in her hair and kiss the air from her body. 

She must have read it on his face for she grinned like a demon, shaking from his grip and catching his wrists in her own small, but capable, hands. Tsking and shaking her head, Molly pushed his hands back against the pillows. "Naughty. Don't make me tie you, darling. I will. But it would be a crying shame. I can't tell you how long I've waited to get these hands on me."

Starting low on her stomach, Molly pressed his palms against her skin, guiding them upward. He brushed her ribs with his thumbs as she brought his hands up to take her ripe, flushed breasts in his hands. 

Dropping her hands from his and arching into his touch with a mewl was all the urging Sherlock required to take over the task of teasing her pert tits to his heart's contentment. He did so with enthusiasm, taking their weight, pressing and molding them together, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. He was lost in his task, taking in her panting breaths and sliding presses of her hips along his length. 

It occurred to him that he need only to prop himself up further against the pillows and lean forward to take one beaded tip between his teeth. So that's what he did. His free hand locked her against him by her waist so that she could not get too far away, although she was doing a hell of a job proving to him that she wasn't going anywhere. 

He gave his hands permission to wander, taking no time to fill his palms with her fleshy arse, slowly rocking his hips up to catch the sensation of her wet slit brushing his length, leaving behind a trail of sweet promise on the overtaxed skin of his member. This was it. This was everything all at once, and also not nearly enough. 

There would never be enough. He would always want her. Always. He'd resigned himself to never knowing the taste of Molly, the feel of her all around him. Oh there was a time he knew for certain he would never have this, for to have it was to take what didn't belong to him. He knew himself. He would run her away with his demands, his selfishness, his mercurial nature would overwhelm her and she would be gone. Gone forever. 

While he knew himself quite well on the matter, he failed however, to know Molly. Of course she had to go and be flawlessly suited to him. Maddeningly tolerable, infuriatingly desirable, beautifully inescapable; she had him trapped and he could only lie back and marvel at how brilliant and hopelessly he was bound to her. 

Something short-circuited when her hand brushed down his torso, skin jumping under her touch, until her hand was in reach of his cock. She encircled him in her hand as she had other times, only this time there was clear intention in her eyes. Her pink tongue swiped her bottom lip and her eyes dropped to where their bodies were joined.

-

Positioning herself over him, she looked up to meet his eyeline, only to find them pressed shut, gritting his back teeth in anticipation. 

"Open your eyes." She softly demanded, sinking partway down on him the same instant he complied. 

 It was Molly's turn to sigh, she was hardly half-filled with him and she was ready to ride him like the sky was falling. The slight curvature of his staff had the head of his cock pressing upwards in a delightful place. She was practically gagging to feel the full length of him pushing past that place again and again.

He hissed out his affirmative, shuddering lifting his hips as high as he could while pinned beneath her, anything to get more. "Want to feel you. Your heat, fill you up with mine. Uhnn!..." 

His mutterings were cut off by her raising up and nearly off of him before settling back down and taking his entire member inside in one stride, she stiffened regardless of how well prepared she'd been up to this moment. She'd felt entirely invaded by him, but nothing could be more welcome. She arched her back, giving herself a moment to adjust, shifting a bit to settle more securely against him. 

Humming contentedly, Molly glanced down at the man beneath her, his eyes clenched shut his chest rising and falling with deliberate breaths. "There you are." She murmured softly to him, tracing the curls at his hairline with her fingertips. He panted at the sound of her voice, eyes slipping shut once again as his mouth fell slack.

After a long moment, he eased against her with a deep sigh, sliding his palms up her hips, opening his eyes once he had her fully in his grasp. Molly saw the moment his gaze honed in on the space (or lack thereof) between their bodies. Smiling, she began to rock against him as he watched, mesmerized by the sight of being taken inside her body. 

She didn't hold back, she let him know exactly how much pleasure she was taking from him, moaning with abandon. Something in the sound of her voice must have called to something deeply primal in him. Not long after she began her pleasured mewling cadence he took hold of her hips, lifting his own to meet her on the downstroke, pressing deeper, deeper; pulling her against him faster, faster.

She took his cues and fucked him hard, bracing her hands on his shoulders, watching his face redden with exertion, a deep vee between his brows, jaw clenched while his breaths quickened between deep groans. 

"Oh! That's right. Yes!" She praised when he desperately reached between them with shaking fingers, to press against her clit in sloppy circles.

His technique did not refine much, too lost he was, in the sensation of her body. She didn't mind. Couldn't mind when she was so so close already. 

"Can't... can't hold..." his eyes plead with her.

"Yes. Come for me, darling." She put a hand over his, moving it against her at the speed and pressure she needed to reach her own finish. 

"That's it! That's it!" She babbled beginning to feel the cresting wave of her orgasm, spurring to his own end with a choking cry. 

"Oh shh shh" She cooed sweetly, even as her body continued to jolt and shudder with her crisis. His own body was completely slack, slumping back bonelessly against the pillows, even while his grip on her remained hard and bruising as iron. 

She busied herself with kissing his neck, his chest, that delicious little place behind his ears while he regrouped. After another long moment of slowly stabilizing breaths his hold on her loosened, hands flopping palm up on the mattress. Grunting a bit in surprise when she dismounted, his softening penis leaving the warmth of her body. 

His lips met hers in a tender kiss when she was adequately settled against him, head resting on his shoulder and leg flung over his bare waist. 

"Forgive me." He murmured into her skin, dropping kisses like rain along her strong little jaw, the length of her supple neck. 

"Forgive you for what, precious?" She struggled to ask, the afterglow and exhaustion dragging on her eyelids. His hand instinctively went to her hair as she settled in more deeply beside him. He combed his fingers through the lengthy tresses methodically, smoothing out the small tangles he found. 

"For not having you sooner. Much sooner than this. Forgive me?" It was an honest question. 

She pondered it a moment, such a serious question deserved serious consideration. Did she forgive him for all he'd done? The way he'd humiliated her and kept her at arm's length? How he'd lied and manipulated others and forced her to be a party to it. _Jim from IT would never have happened._ She thought slightly bitterly. _And Tom... And for fuck's sake, Janine._

His indecision had cost so much. Lives even. 

She sat up from where she lay against him, squaring off to face him directly. Breathing slowly before giving him the most honest answer she could come up with. 

"I don't know, Sherlock." She shook her head. "I don't know..."

He nodded once, seeming to understand her answer. It may not have been exactly what he would have liked to have heard, but it was a start. He would take it. 

She leaned over him to lay an affectionate peck to his lips, then slid out of the bed to freshen up. He lay alone in her bed with naught but his own blissfully well-ordered thoughts. 

 

 


End file.
